Latest Blog Post

𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕

He wasn't the kind of man who said I love you unless she dragged it out of him. Words never did much for him anyway. He figured she knew, she had to.

He wasn't good with explaining things either, but when he told her to pack her shit and follow him out of London, it wasn't because he wanted a change of scenery. It was because if she had said no, he would have found the bastard who made her scared and made him into a stain on the pavement. He had it in him to kill for her, and that was his version of romance. It wasn't the kind she deserved, but it was the only kind he knew.

He loved her in his own fucked-up way. He loved the way her small noises and whimpers filled the dark, how every moan and breath she gave him made the noise in his head go quiet for a second. She didn't know that when she gasped his name, it kept him from putting a bullet in his own skull.

He knew he didn't deserve her, or kids she brought into this world, or the way she looked at him like he wasn't a walking mistake, but he couldn't let himself care. Deserving had nothing to do with it. He would have torn through every monster in her past just to keep her near, to keep her whispering his name like a spell that kept him human.

He would never write her poetry, never tell promises he couldn't keep, but he'd bleed for her without a second thought. He'd put anyone down who looked at her wrong, burn any city that tried to take her away.
Her body was his church, her voice his prayer, and he worshipped like a sinner.

Fvck all that sentimental
Put your face in the pillow
And give me them hands