sombre

mimosa eulogies

5:20 PM - tuesday august 3rd

the rain had been falling for hours‚ a steady‚ relentless downpour that blurred the edges of the world outside my window. the city was a smear of gray and shadow‚ indistinct forms moving in the mist‚ like ghosts passing through a dream. i watched them with a kind of detached fascination‚ as if the rain had washed away the need to care‚ leaving only this hollow curiosity.

the old typewriter sat in the corner of the room‚ a relic from another time. its keys were worn smooth‚ each letter a fading memory‚ like the stories it had once told. i hadn't touched it in months‚ maybe longer. the last time i tried‚ the words came out wrong-jumbled‚ awkward‚ like pieces of a puzzle forced into place. so i left it there‚ a silent witness to my failures‚ gathering dust in the shadowed corner.

my fingers traced the edge of the windowsill‚ feeling the rough wood beneath my skin‚ a tactile reminder of reality. but even that felt distant‚ as if i were drifting through a life that no longer belonged to me. the walls of my apartment were closing in‚ the small space shrinking with every breath‚ until it felt like i was living inside a box‚ a neatly packaged version of myself that no longer fit.

i had tried to escape‚ once. packed a bag‚ walked out the door‚ left everything behind. but the city pulled me back‚ its streets winding through my mind like a labyrinth with no exit. i found myself wandering aimlessly‚ drawn to the places we used to go‚ the coffee shop on the corner‚ the park where we spent endless afternoons. but they were just as empty as i was‚ haunted by echoes of laughter that no longer held any warmth.

the rain kept falling‚ a constant patter against the glass‚ as if the sky was trying to drown the world in its sorrow. i wondered if it would ever stop‚ or if the city would just dissolve into the mist‚ leaving nothing behind but the memories i had tried so hard to forget. i turned away from the window‚ unable to bear the thought‚ and paced the room‚ searching for something to anchor me.

on the bookshelf‚ tucked between volumes of poetry and forgotten novels‚ was the journal i hadn't opened in years. i pulled it out‚ the leather cover worn and cracked‚ the pages yellowed with age. the first entry was dated five years ago‚ a time when everything still felt possible‚ when the future was an open road instead of a dead end. i hesitated‚ then turned the pages‚ skimming through the scattered fragments of a life i barely recognized.

there were notes on books i had planned to write‚ characters sketched out in the margins‚ ideas scribbled in half-formed sentences. and then there were the letters-unsent‚ unfinished‚ words trailing off into silence as if i had lost the will to complete them. each one was a confession of sorts‚ a glimpse into the parts of myself i had tried to hide‚ even from me.

i read them now with a sense of detachment‚ as if they belonged to someone else. but the feelings were still there‚ buried under layers of time and distance‚ waiting to be unearthed. the love‚ the loss‚ the overwhelming sense of isolation-it all came flooding back‚ filling the room with ghosts of the past. i closed the journal‚ unable to bear the weight of it‚ and placed it back on the shelf.

the rain had finally stopped‚ but the silence it left behind was even more suffocating. i could hear the dripping of water from the eaves‚ a slow‚ steady rhythm that matched the beat of my heart. i stood in the center of the room‚ lost in the emptiness‚ wondering if i would ever find my way back. or if i even wanted to.