Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The rain traced silver paths down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into a watercolor of our regrets. He stood by the fireplace, the quiet crackle of embers the only sound besides the frantic drumming of my own heart. His gaze, when it finally found mine, was a physical touch, a warm weight that made my breath catch. I watched the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, the white of his knuckles betraying the calm he fought to maintain. The air itself felt heavy, thick with all the words we had never said and the promises we had so carelessly broken. When he stepped closer, the scent of his cologne, familiar and haunting, wrapped around me like a forgotten dream. A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek, and his thumb rose to gently catch it, his touch a devastating apology. In that suspended moment, the space between our lips felt like the only distance that had ever mattered, a chasm of past mistakes and desperate longing. A soft, broken sigh escaped me, a sound of surrender and hope tangled together, as I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. We were two fractured souls, clinging in the dim light, trying to find a way to mend the shattered pieces of what we had once called love.
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