I was left not with nothing, but with a vacant identity, realizing the heartbreak was less about the person who left and more about how I had dissolved myself until only their reflection remained. Every step I took was a subtle tragedy, as I felt tortured by my own ghost and forced to swallow the obscene taste of a past I swore I'd spit away. The air I took in still tasted like blue tulips just about to wilt. I know the instinct to self-ruin is embedded, but my last resort for breath is now and every moment forward, a crippled excuse to live just a little more, while fighting to reclaim my own colours and prove I am more than the ashes of a shared love.
















