“And I, like a moth is to a flame, drawn to his wicked grace, We tangled in the wreckage they left us in Nostalgic decay. He was the storm I craved,“

This poem is about that rare kind of connection where everything feels effortless and safe—where someone sees you fully, listens without judgment, and holds your hand without hesitation. It’s about the way they don’t hide their fears and don’t expect me to hide mine either. In this moment, under the glow of city lights, there’s no second-guessing, no walls—just a quiet certainty that this is exactly where we’re meant to be. It’s the feeling of being truly seen, not as someone to fix, but as someone to hold and believe in.

Origami: A Paper Heart I wrote this in hopes of meaning the words I say, to convince myself in the long term.