We created a world of our own, where love felt like an unbreakable foundation. Late-night talks about our future, lazy Sunday mornings, and spontaneous adventures made life feel infinite. I loved you with an intensity that scared me, but I held nothing back. I wanted you to know the depth of my heart, hoping that if I loved you enough, you’d never leave. We were unstoppable, or so I thought. We painted our future in vivid colors — a home with creaky floors and too many plants, lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, and growing old with stories only we would understand. Every conversation felt like adding another brick to the fortress of "us," a love so solid I thought nothing could break it.

I loved how we made even the mundane magical — grocery store runs turned into spontaneous dance parties, and late-night talks on the kitchen floor felt like therapy. I let myself believe that happiness was permanent, that love like ours would only grow stronger with time. I didn’t realize that even the strongest foundations can crack if left unattended.

We didn’t just fall in love — we built a life around it. We mapped out our future in soft whispers and promises made under the stars. We talked about the places we’d travel to, the names we’d give our children, the little house with a garden we’d grow old in.

You made the ordinary feel extraordinary. Grocery shopping turned into scavenger hunts, and lazy Sundays became sacred rituals. We danced in the kitchen, sang horribly off-key in the car, and stayed up late sharing secrets like kids at a sleepover.

I held on to every moment like it was a lifeline, convinced that love this beautiful could only grow. I didn’t see the shadows creeping in — or maybe I did, but I refused to believe anything could touch us.