between the lines: unknown no. iii
burns bright, aches for warmth he never receive.
let me tell you something.
about someone.
ready?
read between the lines—
his voice dances with rhythm—it praises, it provokes, but more than anything, it carries weight. not the weight of performance alone, but of purpose. his voice is not for show—it’s for survival. it feeds not just him, but those who share his blood.
behind the energy is a story, one shaped by hunger, resilience, and the longing for a family to rise from ashes.
despite the skills, the stage lights, the endless string of connections, he aches. he claps for others with sincerity, celebrates with grace, always clapping—always waiting, hoping the world might one day turn its eyes toward him.
his love is fire.
lust runs through him where affection never fully grew—confused between lust and loneliness. he asks for little—just enough to feel worth—but when worth knocks, he turns it away, unready to believe it’s real. afraid to be held in ways he never learned to receive.
but he is changing. asking what he needs. what he’s missing. what love should actually feel like. he is learning. slowly. to hold himself with care, to choose a path that includes him.
he is gentle. he is wild. but not reckless. not unkind.
you cannot tame him unless you are ready to meet the storm he hides.
he is he—both breakable and unbending. fragile. fierce.
a man still learning to burn without turning to ashes.
do you know who he is?
author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— twelfth of july, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.
The Ruin Script 
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