Fallen rose
Apollo was seventeen, but he felt like he had already lived a lifetime. Dropping out of school wasn't a decision he made so much as something that just happened-one skipped class turned into weeks, and soon, there was no point in going back. The world around him felt distant, like he was watching it all through a thick pane of glass, unable to reach through. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or something deeper inside him, but reality never felt solid. He drifted through the days, weightless and untethered, caught between craving and numbness.
Silence and a cigarette-that was all he ever really needed. The quiet soothed the constant noise in his head, the feeling that something was always just slightly out of place. Smoking was the only thing that made him feel present, the burn in his throat a reminder that he was still here, still breathing. People talked about the future like it was something waiting for him, but Apollo didn't see it that way. There was only now, only the next inhale, only the dull ache of something missing that he could never quite name.
But maybe he really just missed her a lot.