He wasn’t the kind of guy you could sum up in one description, not neatly anyway. He was a contradiction—a walking paradox that made you want to pull him closer even as you braced yourself for the impact.
His smile could disarm you, and it did. A grin that could go from sweet to devilish in seconds, like he was letting you in on some private joke he hadn’t finished telling yet. His eyes had this restless energy, like they could see through the bullshit of the world and find the chaos hiding underneath—and God, did he love the chaos.
His hair was always a little messy, like he couldn’t be bothered to tame it, but somehow it worked. Everything about him worked, even when it shouldn’t have. He wasn’t polished, not in the way some guys try to be, but there was a rawness to him that made you want to look twice. He wore that casual confidence like a second skin, the kind of charm that wasn’t rehearsed but deeply, maddeningly real.
His laugh? It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, quick, and addictive. The kind of laugh that made you want to be the reason behind it, even if it meant embarrassing yourself just to hear it again. He laughed with his whole face, his mouth curling into something genuine, something that made you feel like maybe he wasn’t all sharp edges after all.
He had a way of holding you—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in every damn way. When he looked at you, it was like the world stopped for just a second, and all you could see was him. He could strip you bare with a glance, leaving you breathless and exposed, and he knew it. Oh, he knew it.
He was trouble. Not the kind that announces itself loudly, but the kind that sneaks up on you, slowly unraveling every defense you didn’t even know you had. He could make you feel invincible one minute and completely unmoored the next. He wasn’t someone you could pin down, and maybe that’s what made him so damn irresistible.
He had this way of talking, too. Every word felt like it was meant just for you, even when you knew it wasn’t. He could charm his way through anything, and it was infuriating how good he was at it. He made you believe in the impossible, in the ridiculous, in the reckless beauty of running headfirst into a disaster just because it felt right.
But there was a weight to him, too. A heaviness he didn’t let show often, but you could feel it in the quieter moments. Like he was carrying something he couldn’t put down, something that made him run faster and push harder because slowing down meant facing it. And God help me, I wanted to take that weight from him, even when I knew he wouldn’t let me.
He wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot. He was stubborn, unpredictable, maddeningly selfish at times. He could make you feel like the center of his universe and then disappear into his own orbit without a second thought. But he was real, in a way that so few people are.
He was everything I wanted and nothing I could handle. A prison I couldn’t escape, but one I didn’t want to leave. Because even when he drove me insane, even when I hated him, I loved him. He was the kind of person who didn’t just walk into your life—he burned through it, leaving you marked forever. And I’d take every scar, every heartbreak, just to feel that fire again.
Because that’s who he was. That’s who we were.
