Where the Lights Don’t Judge

We found love
in a place that didn’t promise safety—
only neon nights
and hearts that beat too loud.

The sky was cracked open with thunder,
but we danced anyway,
barefoot in the noise,
laughing like we were unbreakable.

Your hands smelled like smoke and hope,
like something temporary
that still felt eternal.

We were storms pretending to be people,
colliding, burning,
lighting up the dark
just long enough to be seen.

They said love shouldn’t hurt like this,
but they never tasted electricity
on another person’s lips.

Even when it shattered us,
even when it ran us into the ground,
I’d still say it—
soft, honest, without regret:

We found love.
Not the gentle kind.
The real kind.
The kind that glows
even after the lights go out.

Onnaya