eulogy 4
to whoever wonders about the man who changed me — this is about him.
the one who smelled like oak and bourbon, who carried warmth in his silence, and whose touch could both steady and undo me.
he was older —seventeen years ahead of me — but it never felt like distance. it felt like gravity. like the world tilted slightly toward him, and i just happened to follow the pull. his kids and i, nearly the same age — something people whispered about — but when we talked, it never mattered. we spoke the same language — music, movies, late-night philosophy, the kind of laughter that makes the dark side feel safe.
he was confident in a way that didn’t ask for permission. bald head gleaming under dim light, the spot i could touch that he didn’t allow any other person to, tattoos crawling up his left arm, a quiet map of everything he’s lived through. he didn’t show them off— they just existed, like proof that he’d survived what others couldn’t.
he was well built, well loved, well endowed— and somehow, never arrogant about it. he knew what he was doing, in every way a man can. every move was deliberate, slow like he had time to spare, and somehow, with him, i forgot that time was ever a thief.
he was the softest kind of power. the kind that didn’t shout or demand — he just was. when he looked at me, i felt known in a way that was both terrifying and holy. i loved that about him, i love everything about him.
and i will miss him — the smell of oak on his collar, the sound of his low laugh, the way he’d rest his hand on my thigh while talking like it was second nature, like i was his home.
he says he’ll wait for me — and maybe he means it. but if another woman gets to touch him, to feel that quiet strength beneath her palms, to taste the heat that still burns my name — then she’s lucky, even if she never knows why. because he is rare. because he is ruin and redemption all at once. because once you have been held by him, nothing ever feels the same again.
still, i will not beg the fire to return. i will stand in what remains — tempered, taller, made stronger by the burn. he was black heat, and i am what it left behind.
still warm.
still glowing
still me.
Chloe