𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗥

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𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘺 :  𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧  +  𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 1800

⚠ :  𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 (𝘪 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴?), 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥

❦

i sit in the quiet embrace of the living room, the clock's ticking echoing through the emptiness like a heartbeat that no one notices anymore. the curtains dance a slow ballet with the evening breeze, whispering secrets of the outside world that i've become a stranger to.

the tv flickers with images of laughter and love, but the sound is muted—just like my own life.

samuel's keys are still nowhere to be seen in the basket on the kitchen counter.  his shoes are not scattered by the front door, and the comforting scent of his cologne is fading like the memory of his last kiss goodbye. 

it's been a week since he said those two words that have lost all meaning to me—"see you."

a week of questioning, a week of doubt, a week of loneliness so profound it feels like a physical ache.

the silence stretches on, taunting me with the echoes of his footsteps that have grown so faint over time. work, work, work—his relentless mantra that's become a barrier between us. when did his job start to feel more like a mistress, stealing his smiles and replacing them with furrowed brows and hollow eyes?

i try to remember the last time we had a real conversation, not just the mundane exchanges about chores and plans that ever came to fruition. the last time he held me close and whispered sweet nothings into my ear that filled my heart with the warmth of a thousand suns.

but those days seem so distant now.

each unanswered call, each unread text, digs a little deeper into the fabric of my soul, unraveling the threads of trust and hope that held us together.

i refuse to believe the whispers of doubt that creep into the shadows of my mind—samuel would never cheat.

he's not that kind of person.

yet, the silence is deafening, a vacuum that threatens to consume me whole.

the apartment feels like a museum to our relationship, each room a shrine to moments frozen in time. the kitchen table where we shared countless meals and stories, now cold and untouched.

the bed we used to share, now a solitary fortress where i seek refuge from the pain of his absence. Even the couch, where we cuddled and watched movies, has turned into a stark reminder of the empty space beside me.

my phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting me out of my thoughts. my heart skips a beat as i see samuel's name light up the screen. 

finally, a sign of life.