It's 3:07 AM. Again.
Same hour, same silence, same ceiling I've memorized crack by crack.
I'm lying here wide awake, like every other night. Twohours — that's the best my body allows lately. Some nights, it's even less.
That's how it's been for the last couple of weeks. I drift off for maybe twenty minutes, then bolt up like I forgot something. Like something urgent is pulling me back. But there's nothing. Just the dark and the ache and the same questions that never get answered.
I caught my reflection in the mirror earlier. It startled me for a bit if I'm being honest. I didn't look tired— I looked hollow. Not in that poetic, broken beauty kind of way. No.
I looked worn out. Like someone had scooped the life out of me and left just enough behind to keep me moving somehow. My eyes didn't have that soft, hopeful thing they used to. They just looked… dead. Hollow. Glossy. Lost.
The bags under them have made a permanent home. My cheeks are thinner. Skin pale, almost dull. Like a photo that's been left out in the sun too long— faded, forgotten. I've been skipping meals, not because I want to, but because food feels like a chore now. It's not that I don't feel hungry, just that... I lost the will to eat. Even when I do eat, it's mechanical. No taste. No smell. Just something to shut people up if they ask. To stop bothering me. To let me rot in silence.
I used to care about how I looked. I used to brush my hair properly, moisturize, iron my shirts before going out. Now? I throw on the first thing I find, or I don't go out at all. Most days I just sit. Or just lay down on my bed. Quietly rotting in the same spot, scrolling through nothing, waiting for something to shake me awake again.
Sleep was supposed to be an escape. But now it's just another reminder that my mind won't even let me rest. She's there too. In flashes. In the pauses between dreams. Sometimes I hear her laugh— soft, distant, wrapped in whispers. Like an echo. Sometimes she's not even doing anything. Just exists in my mind like she still has the right to. And then I wake up, heart racing, drenched in sweat, like I saw a ghost.
I guess I did.
She's not in my life anymore, but she still haunts the hell out of it.
And no one really sees it. Not the full picture. People say I look "a bit tired," or "quieter than usual." But they don't see the inside. The noise. The mess. The parts of me I'm trying to tape together in private. You can't explain to someone how it feels, to miss someone who walked away without a fight. Without an explanation.
You just feel it. Every hour. Every breath.
Every time the clock hits 3:00 and you're still lying there wondering what you did wrong. What you could've done differently, so that things wouldn't turn out like this!
Sometimes I wonder if she's sleeping peacefully. If she even thinks about me. Or if I was just something she got over in a week, or just in a day.
People say closure helps. But what if all you got was silence?
What if the goodbye wasn't even yours?
No, I didn't get any of that. No closure, no goodbye, Nothing.
"Some pain doesn't scream. It just lingers— quiet, constant, and always a little too close to the surface."