Maybe it was just how fate wanted it to end. Or maybe fate never cared at all.
Maybe timing decided to play its cruel little game again — the way it always does.
But there's one thing we can be sure of: they weren't meant for each other.
At least, not now.
Maybe not ever.
There was a girl — foolishly full of love for a certain someone.
She loved him with the kind of sincerity that burns too brightly to last.
And when she finally found the courage to tell him,
he said he loved her back.
It felt like the universe had finally decided to be kind.
Their love was electric — dramatic and intense, like Morticia and Gomez.
But even the greatest loves aren't spared from reality.
Cracks appeared. Fights lingered.
They broke up.
And she broke down.
She cried like the world had ended.
Maybe, for her, it did.
And just when she thought no one would ever understand her pain,
there he was —
the boy from before.
The one she used to love.
The one who had once loved her like she hung the stars herself.
He stayed. He listened. He made her laugh again.
He cleaned up the mess someone else made of her.
And all the while, he kept a secret tucked beneath his tongue:
he had never stopped loving her.
But he told her too late.
Too damn late.
He told her only after he helped her crawl back into the arms of someone else.
After he watched her rebuild something he knew would only collapse again.
He told her just when she had convinced herself she had moved on —
that she was over him.
But now, the truth sits heavy in her chest.
He still loves her.
And somehow, it hurts more than it should.
She had already chosen.
She had to pretend that it didn't change anything.
And maybe it doesn't.
But late love confessions taste bitter,
especially when they come after you've been pieced back together
by the same hands that once held you,
only to watch you walk away again —
this time, for good.