We weren’t supposed to see each other.
But we did anyway.

And in those stolen hours,
I felt more free than I ever had.

It was quiet rebellion.
Every time I slipped out to meet you,
every moment our hands met in the dark,
I felt alive again.

We didn’t have the world’s permission,
but we had each other.
And that was enough.

Those months taught me that love doesn’t need a spotlight.
Sometimes, it grows best in the shadows,
soft, untamed,
wildly real.

I remember the way your car door felt as it closed behind me,
like I was leaving every version of the world behind
except the one where you existed.
And that was the only one I wanted.

You always looked at me
like I was someone worth sneaking out for.
Like I was something precious in a world full of noise.
And in return,
I loved you with everything I had,
in every second we could steal.

They’ll never understand how beautiful those moments were,
because they never saw what we did,
a car full of warmth in the middle of a cold year,
two hands that found each other
even when everything said not to.

If love is freedom,
then those secret nights
were the closest I’ve ever been to flying.