I sit in the dark, the room still and quiet, every object in its exact place, as if mocking the chaos inside me. I never thought I'd fall this hard, not like this. Not the kind of love that leaves you breathless, not in a way that makes you lose pieces of yourself. But here I am, in another country, alone, playing the same song on repeat. Over and over. A soundtrack to my unraveling.

I ask myself the same questions, the ones that have no answers. What's wrong with me? What did I do wrong? They echo in my mind, blending with thoughts I can't seem to untangle. Past and present blur, a messy swirl of memories and regrets. I can't tell if I'm reliving it all or if it's just my mind punishing me.

I'm stuck—caught between who I used to be, who I want to be, and the shadow of someone I can't move on from. It's suffocating. The future feels like a distant mirage, something I'll never reach, and the past… the past is an anchor dragging me down.

And then there's this voice inside, sharp and cold, whispering truths I don't want to hear. You've lost yourself. You're not you anymore. It's the cruelest kind of reminder. But maybe it's right. Maybe this isn't me. Or maybe this is all I've ever been—just someone trying to hold on to things that were never mine to keep.

No one is here. No one ever really was. And in this suffocating emptiness, I know the truth—I only have myself. That should be enough, shouldn't it? But it's not. Not when I feel like a stranger in my own skin, not when the silence presses against me like a weight I can't escape. I used to be terrified of silence. Now I crave loud music—something, anything, to drown out the voice in my head. The one that whispers things I don't want to hear, that pulls apart my thoughts and leaves me confused and raw.

I hate this version of me. Weak, broken, spiraling. I used to be strong. I used to be brilliant, creative, alive in ways that made me proud. Where did that person go? How did I lose them so easily?

I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. The doubts, the regrets, the endless ache. I tell myself what I need to hear, even if it feels like a lie: You did your best. You did everything you could. But the words are hollow, bouncing off the walls of my mind without ever sinking in.

Because deep down, I'm not sure I believe it. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. Maybe I wasn't enough. Or maybe… maybe none of this was ever in my control. The thought both comforts and terrifies me.

"You're the first person who held my hand like this," I whispered, my voice trembling. The memory of your touch felt so vivid, like a spark still burning on my skin. The way your fingers intertwined with mine—it wasn't just a gesture; it was a promise. A promise that I foolishly clung to.

I hear your voice as if you're still here, right beside me. "We're not apart. I'll be back after three months." That's what you said. I wanted to believe you. God, I wanted to believe that three months wasn't forever, that I could survive the wait, that you'd come back the same person you were when you left. But time changes people. It's changing me.

"I'll come after my final," you promised. "We'll swim together." I remember how you smiled when you said it, like you were picturing it already—the two of us, water shimmering around us, the world silent except for our laughter. It sounded so simple. So easy. But now it feels impossibly far away, like a dream I'll never wake up to.

And then there were those other words. The ones that caught me off guard, that made my heart race and my breath catch. "I think I kinda have feelings for you." Kinda. Like you were trying to downplay it, like saying it out loud would make it too real. But it was real to me. It still is. And that's the cruelest part of all—how real it still feels, even when you're not here.

Now I'm left holding onto these echoes, these fragments of something that felt like everything. Words I can't forget, promises I can't let go of, and a version of us that only exists in my memory.

Now here's I'm alone….

" How are you doing ? "

" Why have you been "

" I've been pratcing this moments for like 20 somethin'years in my head "

Era of us by Fletcher is kept repeating in my head… How are you doing ? Sasha….