As I navigated the remnants of our life together, I discovered fragments of shattered beauty amidst the chaos—something I wish we had seen before it shattered in the shadows of our pride.

The intricate layers of pain and struggle are palpable, as I sift through the remains.

With each passing juncture, I found myself piecing together the illustration of your sorrow, like an enigma with missing elements.

Yet I didn’t notice the time.

Yes… TIME. The years.

The hourglass is not kind to us, as the sand falls quicker and quicker traveling closer to the bottom.

There was a moment in time when my resolve was seemingly unwavering, I felt myself to be an impenetrable fortress, erected to withstand any storm.

But as I ventured deeper into the rabbit hole of our suffering, playing games in your shadow… my once-indomitable strength began to wane.

The jagged shards of your broken pieces pierced my soul, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

In an act of self-preservation, I sought refuge in the fantastical realms of make-believe—a place where heroes conquer darkness and love prevails.

Even villains warm your heart in this realm.

Yet, even the most enchanting tales could not obscure the stark reality of your absence, as I sit across from you.

I cling to the notion that by relinquishing the memories we’ve shared, I might liberate myself from the torment.

But, deep down, I know that this futile attempt at escapism will not carry me far.

It hasn’t thus far.

For it is within the depths of your being that I sought solace, longing for a glimmer of hope that redemptions were probable, or perhaps something more profound.
… I suppose I am deluded in a fantasy, as I dream of comfort.

As I stand on the precipice of this emotional chasm, I cannot help but feel a sense of detachment—an unbridgeable distance between us.

It is from this desolate vantage point that I cast my desperate pleas into the void, yearning for you to reciprocate the love that once bound us.

Yet, with each unanswered prayer, my hope diminishes, like the fading embers of a dying fire.

Holding onto each gust to keep my hope alive.

I am left to ponder the questions that haunt me—does he still care? Does he wish to care? Did he ever care?
Deep down in the depth of his heart am I still even an image to bear?

The agony of attempting to piece together what has already shattered weighs heavily on him, an unbearable load that he flounders in.

Why do I still find myself entwined in his shadow?

My love for him compels me to endure, even in the face of indifference.

The truth lingers painfully: he does not love, me.

The ache of loneliness pervades my being.

When my own reflection in the mirror is a constant reminder of the love that has slipped through our fingers.

He drifts further from my reach, I am confronted with a harsh reality.

I do not want this to be the end. But it is.

The End.