The rain has been falling for hours, tapping against the window like a steady, unrelenting reminder of everything I’ve lost. I sit in the dim glow of a single lamp, staring at a picture on my phone.
It’s the last remnant of the life I had before you took it all away.
At first, the grief was unbearable—a crushing weight that pinned me down every morning when I woke up, forcing me to remember that they weren’t here anymore. That I’m alone. But over time, the pain didn’t fade; it just changed. It settled into something colder, heavier. Not pain, not even sadness—just emptiness. A hollow ache that stretches across every hour of the day, never leaving, never easing.
People tell me to move on. They say time heals, that I should find a purpose, and try to heal. As if healing is a choice. As if I haven’t already tried. But how do you move forward when there’s nothing left to hold onto?
I reach for the screen, my fingertips tracing the edges of their faces. I want to feel something, anger, sorrow, even hatred. Anything would be better than this numbness. But all I feel is exhaustion like I’ve been running in circles, chasing ghosts that will never return.
I stand and step outside. The rain is colder than I expected, soaking through my clothes, and chilling me to the bone. But I barely notice. I just stand there, watching as the world moves on without me. Strangers hurry home to their families, and laughter spills from behind windows.
It feels wrong.
How can life just continue when mine has stopped?
I walk to the edge of my veranda, staring down at the rushing rainwater below. The way it moves, constant and unstoppable, reminds me of time, indifferent, uncaring, refusing to slow down for anyone.
I let out a breath, barely more than a whisper.
"There’s nothing left of me to lose."
And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’ve already lost everything that mattered.
But I don’t step forward. I don’t move at all.
Instead, I turn back inside, the warmth of the room feeling foreign against my damp skin. I sit back down, then lay back, letting the exhaustion take over. Sleep seems like the only place I can escape to—the only place where I can forget, even for a little while.
I close my eyes and let the darkness pull me under.
