I breathe, but it burns—
like lungs weren’t made for sorrow this thick.
Tears come easier than air these days.
I wasn't anyone's center,
just orbiting lives that never noticed my pull.
An add-on. An afterthought. A ghost in a lit room.

I sit in circles and feel like a stranger,
a silhouette in family photos,
laughter echoing through me, never into me.
I don’t fit in this world,
not in the noise of my friends,
not in the silence of my home,
not even in the mirror.

They say I’m here for a reason.
But I search for it like a lost key
in a locked room.

I think I’m a failure,
as a daughter with a voice unheard,
a sister who forgot how to smile,
a lover whose heart never made it back whole.
And now even my books feel heavier than grief.
Every page whispers, not enough.

I’m failing in every ******* thing,
and yet, I wake up again.
I hope death comes slowly,
not because I chase it,
but because I’m tired of running from it.

And if it ever finds me,
I hope that for once,
I don’t have to fail at that too.

A message popped up on her screen-
"Wanna start over..?" (but it was never real).
She's been having this dream for 3 months 21 days 3 hours and 17 minutes and every second since they parted ways and it never came ,
he said he'll move on ,probably moved on by now but she never will.
She'll wait until death do them apart as they owed to each other.
She now realizes that it's the phase where reality hits right across your face and your heart is too stubborn to accept what your mind already knows and the pain slowly eats away the hope that he'll comeback to her one day, but not completely.
There's always this part of her that'll never allow her to move on, always  remembering the sweet guy she fell in love with, completely forgetting about how he left, choosing his family over her.
He'll never choose her and she'll never move on.
Some stories are meant to be incomplete yet eternal.