A Beautiful Ruin

We loved like thunder loves the sky— too loud, too bright, too close to breaking. Every word between us a spark looking for a forest. You were the storm I ran toward while everyone else ran away. Not because you were gentle— you never were— but because inside your chaos my name sounded like a prayer. We built our home from fragile things: late-night confessions, half-healed scars, promises whispered like secrets afraid of daylight. And still— we fought. God, how we fought. Like wolves guarding the same wounded heart. Like fire arguing with oxygen. Every goodbye a battlefield, every return a surrender. I knew the danger of you the way sailors know the sea— beautiful, endless, and perfectly capable of swallowing them whole. But love is a stubborn creature. It grows in the cracks of broken glass and broken people. It refuses clean endings. It clings to hope like ivy to a collapsing wall. So I stayed. Not because we were good for each other, not because the world approved, but because somewhere inside the wreckage there was a moment— small as a heartbeat— where you looked at me like I was the only quiet place you had ever known. And for that moment alone, I would fight you, fight for you, fight us—