It's a different kind of devastation when the people you love disappear, not with a dramatic ending, but like the universe simply pressed delete and erased them from every corner of your life. One day they exist, the next, you are reaching for a presence that is no longer there to hold you. And if time ever bent in your favour, if it opened even the faintest crack, would you crawl through it just to pull them back? Would you whisper all the things you swallowed? Or would you realize, with trembling hands, that some losses were stitched into your fate long before your heart dared to love? Maybe life is a loop; not of repeating moments, but repeating pains, the same kind of love, the same kind of loss, the same quiet breaking in the same fragile place inside your chest. 𓇢𓆸 And somehow, you keep breathing, even when it feels like every inhale echoes through the empty space they left inside your chest.