The Ruin Script

caught in the shyness of your presence, i have always known you since first year—an outline at the corner of a classroom, a quiet figure whose name stitched itself into my memory. i didn’t chase the thought back then, yet it stayed, faint but steady, like a song i could not unhear.

your hair, when trimmed short, feels like a pull i can’t resist. it locked my eyes toward you, making me notice you all over again, reminding me how attraction often hides in the smallest, simplest details. even when you let it grow, a part of you remains untouchably attractive—though my eyes will always prefer the sharpness of you in short hair.

rhythms belong to you; i can’t separate the thought of music from your name anymore. i don’t know what you play, what strings or keys your hands are drawn to, but i’ve come to think of you as the music itself—an unfinished song, with lyrics i may never understand, yet with a rhythm that speaks only of you. maybe that’s why i think of the guitar chords i know—just g, em, c, d. the only ones my fingers unconsciously remember, the only shapes i know how to place on the strings. i may not know how to strum a full song, but my hands carry those chords as if they’ve only been waiting for someone to play them with me.

underneath all my playful teasing lies something i don’t fully name. maybe it isn’t love, maybe just a liking stretched too far, or maybe it’s pride refusing to fade. i try to catch your attention, dropping sparks in the hope they turn into fire, but the flame only flickers on my side. your replies—half, or none at all—are the notes you never finish. and strangely, i even find your silence attractive—your innocence. your distance. the way you never hurry to explain yourself.

still, i can’t deny how this fascination breathes in me, even if it confuses me. perhaps it’s nothing more than a phase, or just me holding on to the idea of you. yet you’ve become a quiet presence in my story—a rhythm that hums in the background, a melody that carries your name. i kept searching for what music means, until i realized: it has always been you.

author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— 29th of august, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.