Echoes of Yesterday

Part 5- Whispers of a Withered Dream

My hands trembled, each quiver sending shockwaves through my body. Tears blurred my vision, and sweat clung to my skin, wrapping me in a suffocating embrace. I felt paralyzed, as if my limbs were tethered to an invisible force, unable to escape the rising tide of dread. Deep, ragged breaths escaped my lips; I wasn't running, just lying there, yet my body was caught in a tempest of panic.

In that moment of clarity, I recognized the familiar grip of a panic attack—the second one in my life. The first had struck the day we broke up, and I had hoped never to face this darkness again. But here it was, crashing down like an unrelenting wave, dragging me under.

Memories flooded back—those nights spent tossing and turning, haunted by ghosts of sleeplessness. Each moment replayed in vivid detail: his laughter, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about his dreams, and the final, stinging silence that lingered after our last conversation. I felt trapped in a nightmare that refused to release me.

Desperate to ground myself, I wrestled off the suffocating blanket, heat enveloping me like a vise. I reached for my phone, fumbling in the dark to check the time.

3:39 AM.

"Not this again," I groaned, the weight of déjà vu heavy on my chest. The first panic attack had left me sleepless for a month, each day a disorienting blur that dragged me deeper into despair, where shadows danced in the corners of my room, whispering fears that twisted around my mind like tendrils of smoke.

With shaking fingers, I opened the Hike Messenger app, the one I hadn't touched in ages. I had to unlock it first. The password had slipped my mind, so I quickly jotted it down in my notes: "White House."

I chuckled softly. It was absurdly cute and cringe-worthy. Our love had always been painted in colors—his "green house" password a reflection of the innocence we once shared. Silly, yes, but people do the most endearing things when they're in love. Those small acts made the heart ache the most after separation.

As I scrolled through the saved texts, a mix of nostalgia and regret washed over me. I realized my mistake: I never deleted them. Instead, I would block him. How terribly flawed that I hoarded both the sweet and bitter memories, saving snippets of our once-vibrant connection like artifacts of a long-lost civilization. I would block him when the pain became too much, yet the remnants of our conversations lingered, haunting me like an unfinished melody.

Some texts were one-sided, echoing his pleas for connection. Others were filled with my own frustration. "I can't do this again," I would reply, leaving him on read, my heart heavy with guilt. I felt like a terrible person, unable to grasp his point of view. He begged for communication, but I retreated into silence, each message an unyielding reminder of my weakness.

We had envisioned a future together, dreaming of a home filled with laughter—two workspaces where our ambitions could flourish side by side, walls adorned with memories of our shared adventures. But now, those dreams felt like a hollow echo, a reminder of all that had slipped away. The realization stung like a fresh wound, raw and bleeding.

Suddenly, the faint sound of laughter drifted from the street below, pulling me from my reverie. It was a group of friends, carefree and full of life, their voices rising like music in the night. My heart ached for the joy I once knew, moments filled with silly dances and whispered secrets. I remembered how he used to say, "We'll make our own music, you and I."

With a shuddering breath, I threw my phone aside, desperate to escape the spiraling thoughts that threatened to drown me. I stood up, my legs shaky as I navigated the stairs to grab some ice-cold eye patches. My eyes burned with unshed tears, and the cool sensation would offer a brief reprieve from the heat of emotion surging through me.

I stepped outside through the side door, seeking solace in the crisp night air. There, I noticed the tree we once admired, its branches reaching skyward, grown taller and stronger. When had it become so majestic? I remembered a summer day when we carved our initials into its trunk, a promise that felt unbreakable back then.

As the memory washed over me, I recalled the day he climbed over my balcony, his eyes filled with longing as he asked to see me. We had spent hours beneath that tree, whispering dreams and daring the universe to let them come true. "One day," he had said, "this tree will grow big enough to hide us from the world."

But now, standing beneath its sprawling branches, I felt the weight of our lost paths. The older we grew, the further apart we drifted. I wished we could reclaim the dreams we had spun together, but the reality was that those dreams had withered, leaving behind an emptiness that echoed in my heart.

As the tears flowed freely now, I closed my eyes and let the night air wash over me. The stars above were hidden behind clouds, much like our hopes buried in silence. It felt like a cruel joke that the tree thrived while our love lay dormant. I longed for him to understand the tangled mess of my heart—a heart still filled with echoes of laughter, dreams, and a love that was once unbreakable.