Bronwin, for her part, feels it. Of course she feels it. How could she not? Lilah’s love is not the kind you miss; it is the kind that drowns you, fills every corner of your being until you forget what it was like to be empty. Bronwin feels it in the way Lilah looks at her across a crowded room—like she is the only person in existence, and everyone else is merely a shadow. She feels it in the way Lilah remembers the small things: the name of her childhood pet, the way she takes her coffee, the song that makes her cry every time. She feels it in the way Lilah’s hand finds hers under the table, in the way Lilah’s voice drops to a whisper when she says her name.
Until then, the world keeps spinning. The dawn still breaks. The sky still blushes with that impossible shade of pink and gold. And somewhere, in the quiet spaces between heartbeats, a voice whispers the only truth that has ever mattered: bronwin aurora, lilah lovesyou
Lilah loves you.
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. Bronwin, for her part, feels it
The Aurora and the Vow
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. Lilah’s love is not the kind you miss;
Lilah loves you.