Losing Battle

You sat there with a jaw clenched like granite. Backpack slung across your shoulder.

As much as it hurt, you had to go. I wouldn’t dare hold you back. But it felt like you were taking a piece of myself with you, leaving behind a desolate landscape where our happiness might have blossomed. We both knew it wouldn’t work, but part of me wanted to try anyway. But holding on would’ve been a losing battle. You likened it to grasping at smoke. But even smoke leaves a faint scent.

Two years. Two years of us. We were more than high school sweethearts. We built a universe where our dreams intertwined.

I was so naive. Clinging to the hope that somehow we could rewrite the ending. “But reality isn’t a love story, is it?” you said.

I knew he was right logically. But logic couldn’t mend the gaping hole in my chest.

I crumpled onto the bed. The empty space beside me screaming your name in my ears. I keep replaying your touch, the way you looked at me, but it feels like a memory from a different lifetime already.

We were casualties of a love too young. In the muffled rain outside, I could almost hear the whisper of our promises dissolving into the night.

I’m adrift in a sea of what-ifs. Haunted by the echo of your goodbye kiss. Oh, will this ache ever lessen? Was letting go the right choice? These are the questions that keep me up at night. And the truth is, I don’t have the answers.

Yeah, part of me will always wish we could have tried.