The Morning After

 I woke up this morning, but it didn’t feel like waking up.

It felt like being dragged back into a reality I didn’t want to face.

The same ceiling. The same silence. The same ache in my chest that refuses to leave.
My body feels heavy — like every breath I take is a reminder that I’m still here when I’m not sure I want to be.

I didn’t sleep much. Just tossed and turned, replaying every word he said last night.
“Lost the spark.”
“Don’t feel the chemistry.”
“Nothing in common.”

They echo in my head like a cruel mantra. Words that didn’t just sting — they hollowed me out.

I keep asking myself what changed.
When did love start feeling like indifference?
When did my presence start feeling like a burden?
When did “we” turn into just “me”?

The cruel part is, I still love him.
Even now. Even after he looked me in the eyes and said he’s not sure about us anymore.
How ridiculous is that? To still love someone who’s already halfway out the door.

I keep thinking about everything I’ve lost lately — not just money, not just things.
Pieces of myself. Confidence. Safety. The illusion that I was finally getting it right this time.

Everyone keeps telling me to stay strong.
“Be positive.”
“Have faith.”
As if faith could magically refill an empty heart.

No one tells you how to stand back up when your soul feels like ash.
No one tells you how to rebuild when you don’t even know who you are anymore.

So here I am.
Sitting in silence, clutching my coffee like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
I stare at the wall and wonder when my life started feeling like a punishment.

Maybe this is the part where I’m supposed to find meaning — turn pain into poetry, heartbreak into growth.
But right now, I don’t want to grow.
I don’t want to be strong.
I just want to stop hurting.

And yet, despite everything, there’s a small voice — quiet but stubborn — whispering that I’ve survived worse.
That this, too, will one day be another scar that doesn’t bleed anymore.

So I’ll keep breathing.
Not because I’m healed.
Not because I’m hopeful.
But because I don’t know what else to do.

One breath at a time.
One day at a time.
Until I can feel alive again.