The Kiss That Crossed the Line
1.1k Views · Ongoing · Daisy Swift
On that summer night six years ago, Sebastian believed I was asleep. The moment his lips brushed against mine, I held my breath. His fingers trembled as they caressed my hair, then, like a thief caught in the act, he fled in panic.
The following day, he vanished.
He thought he was protecting me.
He was wrong.
Now, I have returned. I uncovered his concealed gallery—over the span of six years, he painted only me. Sketches, oil paintings, watercolors; each stroke a testament to his suppressed longing, each piece a wordless declaration of his love.
He believed time would dull all wounds.
He was wrong again.
For I counted the days waiting for his return, just as he counted the days for me to grow up. This time, I shall no longer feign slumber. This time, I want him to see me awake, to kiss me, to admit his love—regardless of the world's judgment.
After all, the sweetest fruits often grow upon forbidden boughs.
The following day, he vanished.
He thought he was protecting me.
He was wrong.
Now, I have returned. I uncovered his concealed gallery—over the span of six years, he painted only me. Sketches, oil paintings, watercolors; each stroke a testament to his suppressed longing, each piece a wordless declaration of his love.
He believed time would dull all wounds.
He was wrong again.
For I counted the days waiting for his return, just as he counted the days for me to grow up. This time, I shall no longer feign slumber. This time, I want him to see me awake, to kiss me, to admit his love—regardless of the world's judgment.
After all, the sweetest fruits often grow upon forbidden boughs.