๐โ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ.
That sentence shouldโve deterred me from Poe Hansonโit shouldโve at least kept me from falling in love with him.
The problem was, by the time he uttered those words it was already too late. He already had my heart, whether he wanted it or not.
From the moment I first saw his sad eyes and guitar-worn hands, I knew I wanted him. His darkness spoke to my darkness.
His hurt danced with my hurt. We seemed like a perfect fit.
Except for one small detailโthe only thing he will ever love is music.
When he came to me offering a way I could finally have some part of himโto be friends with benefitsโI knew it was dangerous, destined to fail.
๐โ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ญ๐ธ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ.
But it didnโt matter. I took him in any way I could have him, knowing one day my heart would pay the price.
I didnโt expect to be anything more than friends. I didnโt foresee our damaged puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. It didnโt occur to me that while I was handing my heart over to him; he was unknowingly doing the same.
Most of all, I never thought the scars of my past could be mended by a love that had always been founded on rejection.
๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐๐ฆ๐ซ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ด๐ต๐บ ๐ข๐จ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ข๐ฑ ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ๐ต๐ฉ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ช๐น๐ต๐ข๐ฑ๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด.