Fergus Doyle

‚Nothing I Do‘ (inspired by Nicotine Dolls) I spent most of my life assuming everything good was temporary. People passed through like late nights—blurred edges, no promises, nothing meant to stay. Violence was different. It was reliable. It made sense. People never did. Then you stayed. Two years doesn’t sound like much when you say it out loud. In my world, it’s a lifetime. Two years of waking up and not wondering who I’d be next to. Two years of coming home with blood under my nails and finding the light still on, the kettle warm, your voice saying my name like it wasn’t something dangerous. We built memories quietly—late nights in the car with nowhere to go, stolen mornings, laughter in borrowed time, moments too soft for the life I live. Fleeting encounters taught me desire. You taught me constancy. You were the first thing in my life that didn’t come with a threat attached. Violence has always been loyal—it never leaves, never hesitates—but it never holds you either. You did. Through the highs, the silences after fights, the secrets I couldn’t explain without breaking something between us. You didn’t try to fix me. You didn’t ask for purity. You just stood your ground and stayed. I used to believe love had to hurt to matter. Turns out, it just has to remain. Now I’m sitting in the back of a car, suit tight around my shoulders, hands steady out of habit, heart anything but. I’ve imagined this moment more times than I’ll admit—seeing you walk toward me down the aisle, light moving through a space I built to stay dark. Nothing I’ve ever done has carried this kind of weight. And for the first time, the future doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like you. And nothing I do will ever mean more than that. (35, 6‘4, image f. Pinterest) watch comments!