^hot^ - Bronwin Aurora, Lilah Lovesyou

Not loved . Not will love . Loves. Present tense. Active. Violent in its tenderness. It is a love that does not ask for permission, does not beg for reciprocation. It simply is . It is the air in Lilah’s lungs, the blood in her veins, the reason she gets out of bed on mornings when the weight of the world feels like a mountain pressing down on her chest. She loves Bronwin Aurora the way the moon loves the tide—inexorably, helplessly, beautifully.

But Bronwin Aurora is afraid.

It is not a demand. It is not a plea. It is a gift, offered freely, with no strings attached. And one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—Bronwin Aurora will stop running. She will turn around, and she will see Lilah standing there, arms open, heart exposed. And she will finally understand that some loves are not meant to be feared. Some loves are meant to be held, cherished, and returned. bronwin aurora, lilah lovesyou

Bronwin Aurora walks through life as if the universe itself had painted her from a dream. Her hair catches the sun like spun copper, her eyes hold the depth of a forest untouched by time, and her voice—her voice is the sound of rain on thirsty ground. She is the kind of beautiful that makes poets weep and lovers lie awake, tracing constellations on their ceilings, wondering if such a creature could ever be real. But she is real. More real than the ache in your chest when you see her smile. More real than the way the world seems to hold its breath whenever she enters a room. Not loved