Rogue | outer banks

Flashback 12

Losing someone is a feeling that cannot be put into words. It is a void that cannot be filled, a pain that never truly goes away. The loss of a loved one is an indescribable and soul-crushing experience that changes a person forever. I know this because I have endured this pain.

When I lost my parents, I felt like I had lost a part of myself. They were my rock, my pillars of strength, the ones who held me up when everything else crumbled. Their sudden absence left a void in my heart that could never be filled. I found myself constantly reaching for the phone to share a piece of news with them, only to remember that they were no longer there to listen. Their laughter, their advice, and their love all vanished in an instant, leaving me adrift in a sea of sorrow.

Losing friends is another type of sorrow that cuts deep. The laughter, the late-night conversations, and the shared moments of joy and sorrow - all gone in an instant. The absence of their presence leaves a void in my heart that no one else can fill. Memories of our time together flood my mind, and I am left with a sense of longing and sadness that never seems to fade.

But the loss of an unborn child is a unique form of grief that cuts deep into the soul. The emptiness that follows is unbearable, a constant reminder of what could have been. Losing a child before they even had the chance to take their first breath is a pain that never truly goes away.

The pain of losing someone is not something that can be neatly tucked away or easily forgotten. It lingers like a ghost, haunting every moment of our existence. It is a constant reminder of the cruel fragility of life, and a testament to the enduring power of love and connection. It is okay to feel anger, sadness, and even moments of fleeting acceptance. What is crucial is to honor the memory of those we have lost and find solace in the cherished moments we were fortunate enough to share with them.

It's been two weeks since I returned home, and Rafe and I still haven't made any progress. We still can't bring ourselves to talk about the miscarriage, and it's tearing us apart. I can see it in Rafe's eyes – they used to be so light, like the sky on a clear day. But now, they're as dark as the turbulent ocean, filled with pain and sadness.

I wish we could talk about it, but I'm scared of what might happen. I can't bear the thought of us screaming at each other, shouting hurtful words, and ultimately leaving each other. So instead, I've been keeping to myself, accepting whatever little bit of affection Rafe is willing to give me. The walls we had built around our pain became both a fortress and a prison, shielding us from the truth yet keeping us confined within the boundaries of our shared sorrow.

It's not enough, but it's all I have right now.

I miss the way we used to be, so happy and in love. Now, there's a palpable distance between us, and it's suffocating. I try to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that has formed between us, but he seems distant and unresponsive. I can't help but wonder if he blames me for what happened. I know it's irrational, but the guilt is eating me alive. I should have been more careful, should have done things differently.

Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be in this situation.

I miss the feeling of his arms around me, the warmth of his embrace. I miss the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. But now, everything feels so distant and unfamiliar. I'm living in a world that's crumbling around me, and I don't know how to fix it. I long for a day when I can look into Rafe's eyes and see the light return, when we can finally talk about our loss without it tearing us apart. But for now, all I can do is hold onto the hope that one day, we'll find our way back to each other.

I stole a glance out of the window, where Rafe leaned against the hood of his car, a cigarette in hand as he engaged in what appeared to be an intense phone conversation. The look of stress on his face was evident, and it made me hesitant to inquire about the nature of his discussion.