Not Yet
Those moments slipped through fingers too stiff to hold on. Pride stood there, arms crossed. Fear whispered low, heavy in the chest. Walls built by hands he recognized but barely knew. Distance grew where steps should have been taken.
Beneath his breastbone, an old soreness pulsed. Not just from recollection, but thickened by vanished chances, shaped also by whispers of futures not yet lost. Heavy it lodged, deep inside, almost humming under pressure. This wasn't mere sadness - more like something alive pushing slow against bone.
Out of nowhere, her voice sliced through the quiet.
A tiny thing, really, shaky in its uncertainty - then again, the kind of fragile that pressed against his chest like a bruise waiting to bloom.
"Victor… why? After all of it… why now? After all these years…"
Not blaming, the words stretched forward instead.
