Staring out from the window of an unknown city, in a land that feels foreign, whispers of the past still echo. The voices, their words, the promises—they linger like ghosts in the corners of my mind. I long to answer, yet the silence is heavy, locked inside. My heart, a stone, caught in my throat. How do I share this ache, over and over, with those who have already tired of its weight?
I see us—once hand in hand, promising to meet every turn in life together. Those late-night walks, the unplanned escapes, the streets we dreamed of wandering. Now that you’re gone, where do I place these dreams? A hollow wraps around me, a shadow I cannot shake.
I sit by the window, watching silhouettes rise and fall—some familiar, some strangers—drifting like smoke in the memory of you.
They ask how I am, tell me to find joy in what remains, that there’s more to life than this. But I live in the life we imagined—alone. I’ve gained the world, but what is it worth?
It was always you—my beginning, my end. Now, I walk those unknown streets, haunted by the shadows of what once was, knowing nothing will ever be the same. The air feels thicker, every step heavier, as if the past clings to my very skin. I search the faces of strangers, hoping for a glimpse of you in the crowd, a familiar echo in the noise.
As they say- loving is short, but forgetting is long. I once believed love could fill every empty space, that time would heal every wound. But now I see—some voids grow with time, and some wounds never close. The weight of absence becomes part of you, and in chasing the past, I’ve forgotten how to live in the present.
©Gargi Banerjee
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