This story is not entirely based on true events.
Writing is my sanctuary, a canvas where I pour my feelings and transform them into narratives that speak not just to the mind but to the heart. Through storytelling, I give voice to what cannot be spo...
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After that final conversation with Maxwell, I told myself to wait. He would come back, wouldn't he? He'd realize he made a mistake, pick up his phone, and text me to fix everything.
But day by day, my phone stayed silent. No calls, no messages-just emptiness.
Each passing day felt heavier than the last, the weight of his absence sinking deeper into my chest. I still waited, clinging to the hope that he might come back. But deep down, I knew he was gone.
---
I tortured myself with thoughts of "why" Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't he choose me? Why did the love I gave so selflessly feel like it wasn't meant for me?
I kept replaying every memory, every fight, and every smile we shared, searching for answers that never came. Slowly, I started to lose the parts of myself that Maxwell once loved.
---
It's strange how heartbreak has a way of dulling the world around you. I stopped smiling. Even when my friends tried to cheer me up, their laughter felt distant. I couldn't feel anything but the ache of missing him.
I told myself to move on, to forget him. But every time I tried, his face, his voice, his laugh-they'd come rushing back, haunting me in ways I couldn't escape.
People noticed my silence. A few tried to pull me out of it. One boy even tried to give me his heart, offering words of kindness and gentle gestures. But I rejected him without a second thought.
"Thank you, but I can't" I'd said softly, barely able to meet his eyes.
---
Trust. That's what I'd lost. Not just in Maxwell, but in the idea of love itself. How could I trust anyone again when the person I thought would never hurt me left me broken?
But I couldn't let him go completely.
I found myself stalking his social media, scrolling through his posts late at night. It was pathetic, I knew, but seeing how he was doing made me feel closer to him.
"At least he's okay" I whispered to myself, staring at a photo of him smiling with his friends. That smile used to belong to me, and now, it felt like a ghost from a life I could no longer reach.
---
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I cried every single day. Sometimes quietly in my room, other times in the bathroom at home where no one could see. I thought time would help, but it didn't.
It felt like I was praying for a miracle that might never come. Every weekend, I knelt, as I whispered to God:
"If he's not meant for me, please take him out of my heart. Take these thoughts away, this pain away. Let me forget him. But if he is meant for me, bring him back. Bring him back as a better version of himself, and make me strong enough to forgive"
---
Weeks turned into months, and still, I was stuck in this limbo between hope and despair. Maxwell had moved on-at least, that's how it seemed from his posts. He was living his life, smiling, laughing.
And me? I was still here, waiting, praying, crying.
Every part of me felt hollow, as if the person I used to be had disappeared the moment he walked away.
I didn't know how to let go, but I wasn't sure I could keep holding on either.
