In The Wake of The End

There’s no rewinding the tape, no undoing the damage he inflicted with his words and actions. He ensured that the bridge between us burned irreparably. Yet, despite it all, my heart clings to him—desperate, stubborn, and foolish.

His absence is a phantom limb, a void that gnaws at my core. I ache for the familiar contours of his body, his easy laughter, the warmth of his touch, and the endless conversations that once wove our souls together. His scent lingers, haunting me—a cruel reminder of what once was.

He betrayed me, left me raw and bleeding. And yet, I remain tethered to memories, to the echo of his heartbeat against my back. I wonder if he ever loved me, if he misses me as I miss him. The silence of my phone amplifies my loneliness, and I navigate this small town like a ghost, avoiding the places where our paths might intersect.

But life insists on moving forward. My dreams beckon—an art sale, tables waiting to be adorned with my creations. It’s my first in-person sale, a chance to breathe life into my aspirations. And yet, the yearning persists. I crave his voice, his breath against my skin. How do I reconcile survival with this unyielding ache?

Perhaps healing lies in the brushstrokes of my art, in the colors that spill from my soul. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find solace in creation—the balm for a heart that refuses to forget.