Part II — The Red Stain
- Aug 17
- 1 min read
I tried to be reasonable. Truly. I told myself it was nothing; a spark at most. A friendship at best. A polite hello with no follow-up. The kind of feeling you’re supposed to sip and put down. But then I opened the door.
And love? Love walked in like it paid rent.
It didn’t tiptoe or ask permission; it tracked itself across my life like a red stain on white silk. One moment, I was composed; the next, I was starring in my own melodrama, wondering why everything suddenly smelled of poor decisions.
I thought I had control. I thought I had boundaries. Then I blinked, and he was everywhere. In my thoughts. In my senses. In my favorite songs.
And once it seeped in, there was no scrubbing it out. Not that I tried very hard.
Some stains? You pretend to hate them while secretly hoping they never fade.