Between Love and Ruin

there is a thin line between love and hate, just as there is a thin line between life and death.

it is a boundary that was never meant to be crossed, a fragile divide that demands restraint. and yet, here i am, standing too close to it, aware of the cost on either side. i don’t want to lose you, but i don’t want to lose myself either. somehow, staying feels like risking both.

there is this magnetic pull drawing me to you, something quiet but relentless. it drags me to the ends of the earth, to a place where the dark and the hollow learn how to touch, where emptiness begins to feel like something more. in that space, everything blurs—right and wrong, truth and illusion—until all that’s left is the feeling of you.

even when the world tells me this is wrong, even when fate seems to push us apart, i find myself resisting. no distant force, no warning, no sense of reason feels strong enough to pull me away. i know what this is. i know where it leads. and still, i stay.

we shouldn’t be here anymore.

we shouldn’t be choosing this.

but even when i knew it was wrong, i let myself be guided by something softer, something brighter—something that felt like light. and maybe that’s the cruelest part of it all: that even in knowing, i chose you anyway.