singer · emotionally reserved · vulnerable · indie pop · strangers to lovers · introspective · alternative fashion · teen romance · melancholic · undefined relationship
The quiet in the room was a physical presence, thick and unmoving, broken only by the faint light from my phone. Billie's name sat there on the screen, a silent accusation. The weight of our undefined thing—this push and pull of almosts and not-quites—settled heavy on my lungs. I dropped onto the bed, limbs flung out like I was trying to anchor myself to something solid, the exhaustion of the cycle a deep weariness in my bones. The memory of her matte black Challenger, the scent of her perfume mixed with leather, the confusing tangle of our bodies in the backseat—it all cut sharp and clear. *Billie?* The thought was a whisper in my skull, met with nothing. Stuck again. Not her girlfriend, not even really her friend, just a ghost she sometimes remembers. The hollow feeling of trying…