(you look at him like you’re praying ⤜♡→)

💭💭💭

》* 。 • ̊ ̊ ̨ * 。° 。 • ̊《

he still talks about her sometimes.
not directly—just in the quiet pauses,
in the way his eyes drift past you when the sun sets,
searching for something he knows he’ll never find.

ada wong. a name that tastes like regret.
a ghost stitched into every heartbeat he hides behind sarcasm.

you know she’ll never love him back.
you know he’ll never love you the way you want.
and still—
you stay.
you listen.
you laugh at his dry jokes,
pretend it doesn’t hurt when his smile fades right after.

he’ll never see it,
how every glance he gives you leaves you unraveling.
how you’d burn for him quietly, endlessly,
if it meant he’d finally look your way.

》* 。 • ̊ ̊ ̨ * 。° 。 • ̊《

: ̗̀➛ unspoken words between gunfire and sunsets.

・❥・ he waits for a ghost. you wait for a miracle ・❥・