And I believed you. Because love like this doesn't end. It doesn't fade or break or lose its way. It waits—patient, unshaken—until the world finally catches up.
I closed my eyes, feeling your heartbeat beneath my cheek, the sound steady and real.
"This is love," I whispered, my voice carried by the wind.
You pressed a kiss to my hair, your voice gentle in reply. "Oh, this is love."
The stars watched us as they always had—silent witnesses to a love story that had finally found its forever.
And beneath that endless sky, where the world seemed to stop just for us, I knew.
This was our dream. This was our forever.
And it was everything.
The hill became ours again—a sacred place where the echoes of our past met the promise of our future. That night, beneath the silver glow of the stars, I knew that time had finally brought us home.
But the days that followed were not just fleeting moments of bliss; they were real. We began to piece our lives back together, thread by thread, as though no years had passed at all. You stayed true to your promise—this time, you were not leaving.
We rented a small apartment on the quiet edge of the city, where the windows faced west, catching the soft glow of the setting sun. The space was humble but filled with light—our light. I would find you sometimes, sitting on the floor with a sketchbook in your lap, sunlight spilling across your face as you worked.
"What are you drawing?" I'd ask, though I already knew the answer.