I loved you like I couldn’t survive without the feel of you.
Every curve, every shiver, every soft gasp
was a pull I couldn’t resist, a hunger I couldn’t control.
Your body called to me,
and I answered with everything I had—
hands, lips, breath, heart—
as if losing you for even a second
would mean losing myself.
I loved the way your skin burned under my touch,
how your body arched, twisted, begged without words.
Every shiver, every tremble, every soft cry
was a map I traced over and over,
driven by the fire only you could ignite in me.
I loved the rhythm we made,
the collision of us,
the heat that pulled us together
until it felt like nothing else in the world existed
except you, me,
and the storm we became.
I loved the surrender in your eyes,
the tension in your muscles,
the way we became a single blaze of need and fire
that refused to be tamed.
Even now, I feel it—
your warmth pressing into me,
your fire lingering on my skin,
the memory of you driving me wild
like I could never get enough,
like I would chase you through a thousand lifetimes
and still not touch the edge of what you do to me.
I loved you like a storm,
all-consuming, unstoppable,
and I would burn again for you,
every single time.
Even after, I can’t let you go.
The world returns around me,
but you—your fire, your warmth, your weight—
still linger, pressing into me,
haunting me in the quiet moments.
I think about the curve of your shoulder,
the way your breath caught in my ear,
the tremble in your hands as we moved together.
I can still feel it,
still ache for it,
still want it,
like it’s a part of me
that no one else could ever touch.
I loved you then, and I love you now,
not just in the heat,
not just in the fire,
but in the quiet aftermath
when nothing exists but the memory of you
and the ache you left behind.
You're a storm I can’t escape,
a fire I never want to put out,
and I carry you
in every heartbeat,
in every sigh,
in every moment I breathe.
