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The night was thick with silence, broken only by the rain pounding against the window and the sound of his shallow breaths. He sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet sink in. Pain had once raged inside him, burning hot, but now only numbness remained—a deep, cold emptiness that seemed to anchor him to the room. "How can she seem so indifferent about what happened? How could she just throw our relationship away like it meant nothing?" he asked himself quietly.
Only a few weeks ago, he would have stayed up late just to see her name on his screen, waiting for her goodnight text or the chance to hear her voice one last time. But tonight, his phone lay face down on the floor, screen cracked from the last time he’d thrown it. The messages that once brought him comfort now felt like fragments from another life. Her laugh, once his favorite melody, was now a twisted echo in his mind. He had memorized every detail of her face—the curve of her smile, the way her eyes lit up—but now those memories felt painful, like each one had betrayed him. What once brought him peace now left a dull ache, filling the room with a loneliness he couldn’t shake. Memories of her replayed in his mind, but they felt distant, almost like scenes from someone else’s life. He realized, painfully, that maybe he had been holding onto their story alone. Her side of things had unraveled, slipping away one thread at a time, until only his remained, tightly woven around his heart. He’d spent so many nights lost in the warmth he thought was love, letting her presence fill every empty part of him. But it had been a mirage—a projection of his own hopes onto someone who had never wanted to carry them. Piece by piece, he had given her everything, only to find himself hollow, left with nothing but echoes. In the back of his mind, she died and he wasnt even sad about it. He felt numb.
A picture lay in his hand, one he’d once hung above his bed as a reminder of happier days. In it, she was smiling, leaning close to him, and he could still remember how much he’d adored that smile, how alive it had made him feel. But tonight, staring at the photo, he felt only a sharp twist in his chest. For the first time, he saw her as someone who had taken so much from him, piece by piece, without even realizing what she left behind.
“I hate you,” he whispered, looking at her face in the picture. His voice was quiet and cold, and the words felt easy to say. He didn’t feel guilt; he didn’t feel regret. He felt...empty. But this time, the emptiness didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like space—space he could finally fill with something other than her memory.
It was over, he realized, in a way that didn’t need words. He didn’t have to force himself to forget or pretend. He only needed to stop loving her, to let go of the hope that she would ever be different. When the clock struck midnight, the sound echoed in the room, and he took a deep breath, his body finally relaxing as the silence wrapped around him. The room was cold, emptier than ever, but tonight he welcomed it. The cold seeped in, replacing the weight of everything he’d held onto for so long. He pulled the blanket over himself, feeling a small sense of peace as he closed his eyes. It wasn’t happiness, not yet—but it was the start of something close to freedom.
For the first time, he felt ready to leave the broken pieces behind.
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