Everybody says “love.” (Fuck.)

Liars say love. (Fuck.) Saints say love. (Fuck… fuck.) Lost ones say love. Cowards say love. Even the ones who walked away still say love. Funny… How the same damn word fits in every motherfucker’s mouth, and somehow never means the same damn thing. Maybe the whole fucking point was never the word. Maybe it’s the way you keep looking at me when I stop hiding who I really am. (A beautiful fucking sinner.) Maybe it’s the silence that keeps burning long after the fucking’s over. Everybody says “love.” (Fuck.) We say it. We do something way heavier. Something that bites, burns, and makes you laugh like you’ve finally gone insane. Something that keeps dragging us back at three in the fucking morning. (Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.) No chains. No promises. Just two people running straight into our own fire, like we were the ones who lit the match. (Fuck me.) Everybody says love. We don’t. We breathe that shit. You never felt like an escape. You felt like gravity. Like a goddamn hell I swore I’d never step into, but somehow always knew my way home. You don’t fix me. You don’t save me. You just make it impossible to keep fucking myself over. And if this is madness… Don’t fucking cure me. If this is ruin… Leave my name written all over it. ‘Cause I’d rather lose my peace to the truth than spend my whole life living inside a beautiful lie. Everybody says “love.” (Fuck.) Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re wrong. Or maybe… they’ve just never found the place where that word stops being just another sound… and quietly becomes something real. (Fuck… fuck… fuck.)