It's 3:12 a.m.
I'm sitting in the dark again, half-wrapped in a blanket I haven't bothered to wash in weeks. My phone's face down on the bed. I'm not waiting for anything, or anyone. Not really. But I still check it every few minutes like something might've changed. Like maybe she remembered. Like maybe I still matter. Just maybe.
I don't cry anymore. I think I ran out of that.
Now it's just this… emptiness. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet ache, dull and constant, like a bruise that never really heals. And it's in everything. Really, Everything. Brushing my teeth. Heating up rice that I won't finish. Sitting through old conversations like I'm watching someone else's life from the outside. Can't do anything else. Can't focus on anything. Not job, work, even something as small as watching a show, can't do it anymore. It's getting unbearable.
People keep telling me to move on.
Well, it's only one friend who knows about my situation. But nonetheless.
He doesn't say it like that, not directly. He says, "You should get out more," or "Try not to think about it so much!"
I nod. Smile. Pretend I'm not falling apart in the silence between his words. Cause what else am i supposed to do, right!?
But the truth is, I don't even know who I am anymore without her shadow hanging over me. I look in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back. There's this hollowed-out look in my eyes. Like the lights are on, but no one's home.
And still… I go on. Somehow.
Eat. Sleep. Wake up. Exist.
Sometimes I wonder how she's doing. Not in the clingy, desperate way I used to. Just in that distant, curious way— like remembering a song you used to love, but can't listen to it anymore. I wonder if she's happy. If she laughs at the same stupid memes. Or is it someone else that she laughs with, someone new who finds those funny too. Or If she ever scrolls past my name and pauses. And maybe even misses me, even if just a little.
Probably not.
The world didn't stop when she left.
It didn't even slow down.
Everything kept moving. Routinely, loud and untouched. People kept smiling, seasons kept changing, the sun still rises like it doesn't give a damn about who's hurting. Even the rain falls like it has somewhere better to be. It doesn't mourn with me. It just taps against the windows, soft and distant, like a reminder that time doesn't stop— not even for heartbreak.
And me?
I'm still here.
Still showing up, even when I don't know what I'm showing up for.
It's weird how life just.… goes on.
Even when you don't feel like you're in it anymore.
Sometimes I think I'm healing.
Other times, I don't know... Maybe I'm just getting better at pretending. More and more. Bit by bit.
And maybe that's the same thing.
But then there are nights like this— quiet, still, a little too honest— when the truth slips in between the silence.
When you realize you've been holding yourself together with worn-out threads, hoping no one notices the frayed edges.
You start to wonder how long you can keep doing this.
How long before the version of you that's just "getting by" becomes permanent?
How long before the memory fades for real… and what's left behind is just a scar you learn to carry like it was always part of you?
I don't want to forget her.
But I don't want to remember like this either.
"Sometimes it's not about getting over someone. It's about learning to live with the silence they left behind."