My curse: Attachment

You wear detachment like perfume a scent to mask the storm within. But love clings to you like smoke, curling through the cracks you sealed.

You laugh like you’re untouched, yet your silence aches of longing. Even your distance is a form of hope a quiet wish to be chased, to be chosen.

You fall not in steps, but in echoes and spirals. And when you hold on, you do so with invisible chains no one else can see… but you feel every weight.