Kenzie Love Pov Instant

I grab my phone, shove it into my back pocket, and open the bathroom door. The hallway smells like cheap vanilla candles and expensive regret. I walk toward the stairs, toward the noise, toward E. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know if I’ll say anything at all.

My name is Kenzie Love, and I have spent my entire life trying to live up to my surname. kenzie love pov

But inside my chest, right now, it doesn’t feel like a safe harbor. It feels like a shipwreck. I grab my phone, shove it into my

“You’re Kenzie Love,” I whisper to myself. “You don’t beg. You don’t chase. You feel things, but you don’t let them drown you.” I don’t know what I’m going to say

I’m staring at my phone screen. The cursor blinks on a half-typed text to a person I’ll call “E.” I’ve known E for three years. We’ve shared a blanket during a power outage. We’ve fought about whether Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is romantic or tragic (I said both; they said neither). And tonight, I watched them put their hand on someone else’s lower back. Just a casual thing. A friendly gesture. But the way their fingers curled? That wasn’t friendly.