BlackSwan

I’ve wished for many things in this life, but none have burned me more than your absence. I want to scream, but my lungs are filled with unshed tears. It’s suffocating not being in your arms.

I cry oceans, hoping they’ll finally drown the ache in my chest. Every second without you cuts me deeper. I am miserable, and I wish someone—anyone—could hear my plea, my prayer, and offer me mercy

I miss your warmth, your steady gaze. I miss how you filled my cold, empty bed with laughter. I tell myself I shouldn’t care—but I do.

In your eyes, I saw my own wounds reflected—beautiful, familiar—in the deepest shade of brown. And even now, with the world against you, I still refuse to believe you didn’t care.

The more I try to move on from you, the more I’m reminded of the pain of not having you. This maddening ache brings me to my knees, and I can’t get up. I can’t keep going when every time I step outside, I find myself scanning the crowd, searching for your face, your eyes, your presence.

Strangers pass by, but I don’t really see them. Their faces blur into one, unfamiliar, colourless. The world around me has lost its hue, wrapped in dull shades of black and white.

You still linger near me, nestled in the fire of my stubbornness—

a spark in my heart that refuses to fade.

You're the echo lost in the depths of my despair,

woven into the best parts of me—my kindness, my innocence, my youth.

You live in the moments when I felt happy, when I felt safe.

And the feeling of you—it never leaves.

It guides me like a quiet force, leading me toward some unknown destination.

A sad melody hums softly in the background as I walk through the fire.

It burns, yes, but I move forward untouched.

Because this fire is not my enemy—it is my hope.

Give me strength, and I will win the war.

For I find power in my pain,

just as much as I do in my tears.

I know you can change. I believe there is still good in you.

It’s been a few months now. I’ve gone from place to place, trying to forget you —

distracting myself with addictions, alcohol, and the arms of strangers.

But nothing silences the echo of your name in my mind.

I thought distance would dull the memory.

Instead, it’s sharpened it.

Maybe I’m not running to forget.

Maybe I’m running so I don’t have to feel how much I remember.

A bad habit — going back and forth between feeling and logic.

The thunder of emotion, the rainclouds that drown out reason.

When the world feels heavy—like a brick on your heart or a burden on your shoulders—you stare at the sky and wish upon the brightest star, as if that alone could solve your problems. Yet the star just blinks, indifferent—a cold reminder that some weights must be carried alone.

How can you be so naive, so innocent again?

Your color palette is gloomy now, painted in shades of grey and carved into a void of numbness. Yet still, you hope.

How can you be so stupid?

Of course you’re angry at the world for being cruel—but only because you still refuse to accept the truth:

"You can't expect people to treat you the way you treat them—with kindness and respect."

A tale as old as time.

When you were searching for love, all you found was a heart too full of rage to feel anything else.

Too empty. Too dark.

It didn’t consume you.

It became you.

Who you were feels like an old friend you haven’t spoken to in years.

And if you’re honest, you’d be ashamed to admit what you’ve become:

A shallow being with a shattered soul—no longer sweet, no longer beautiful.

Just ugly pieces on the ground—naked, burning, full of rage.

Part 1: The Aftermath

As usual, the coffee shop was bustling, with people chatting and having random conversations while indie music played in the background. It was a bright sunny day, the start of spring, and the world was refreshed. Physically, she was present. But her mind was long gone.

It's been three weeks, maybe more, since he left without a word. Time didn't make sense anymore. It was the same dull pattern every day: get up, go to class, perform, go home, and feel empty. Do it again. The emptiness was worse than the thunderous silence that followed him. Her heart didn't receive the memo, even though it seemed like the entire world had gone silent.

She sipped the lukewarm coffee and winced. It tasted bitter. Everything was now. Across the room, a couple was laughing. He leaned in to wipe sugar off her cheek, and she slapped his hand away playfully. Her chest hurt. "Don't do this to yourself," she said under her breath, but her heart didn't hear. She got up slowly, the weight of sadness resting on her shoulders like a wet coat. As she stepped out of the coffee shop, she noticed her reflection in the glass. Pale. Tired. Not quite her.

Just a slow, sick ache in her chest as she realised she had been loving someone who had never really been there. She remembered sitting on her bedroom floor with the weight of her grief pressing down like concrete. Her hands trembled as she tried to gather the broken pieces of her heart, her pride, her sense of worth. But every time she touched them, they cut deeper.

Take me from this place of sorrow into the garden of light. Help me shine again the way I used to.

Let me feel the cold wind brush against me soft skin as I lose myself in the ocean of complicated emotions that consume me.

Let me drown - until I figure it all out - so I can be reborn from the ashes of my tears.

People like to call it abandonment, but giving it a name doesn't make it any easier to bear.

The dark void growing inside me has become my closest companion -

devouring me without mercy, like a parasite that only grown stronger by the day.

I am stuck in my bed, yet my soul has traveled to a quieter place.

Let me sit in front of a window and watch the wind caress the trees,

The light slipping through the branches.

The mountain is silent, still - holding the secrets I've whispered in every breath

and the future I've buried in my tears.

I hope peace finds me lying on the beach

rather than drowning in the sorrow of tomorrow.

What am I, if not dramatic?

That red glass of wine has heard more stories than any soul ever could.

It knows me - sad, devasted, depressed, and happy -

and it's never left my side.

It eased the pain, if only for a moment,

helped me cry it out.

But all of it was in vain,

because you keep haunting me

- in every smell, every room, every sentence.

I've lost count of how many times you've crossed my mind.

Somehow, it still feels like you're here -