I keep thinking about how deep I dug this hole.

Not just for me—but for you too.

Like if I went down, I wanted you right there beside me.

Forever sounded safer than being left alone.

They keep saying things.

Telling me what love is supposed to look like,

telling me I’m doing too much,

telling me we shouldn’t be this tangled.

But what do they know about the way it felt to want you so bad

I’d rather lay still than risk losing you?

I told myself we’d never separate.

I believed it so hard it scared me.

I wanted to lie next to you in every way possible—

body, soul, future, grave if it came to that.

That’s how deep I was.

I was ready to be the lie

if it meant you could be my truth.

Ready to bend, blur, disappear a little

just to keep us intact.

That part hurts to admit.

Lately I’ve been bothered.

Not by you—by time.

By the quiet reminder that one day I’ll die,

one day I’ll leave everything behind.

And the thought of leaving you

makes my chest tighten like I’m already gone.

Sometimes it feels like after every hour,

after every moment that feels too real,

I’m reminded nothing lasts.

And I hate that.

I hate knowing love doesn’t make us immortal.

Still…

I dug that hole for us.

A place where nothing else could reach.

A promise carved too deep to ignore.

Maybe that’s love.

Or maybe that’s fear.

Or maybe it’s both, mixed together

until I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.