I switch off the lights, the room plunging into darkness except for the faint glow of my phone screen. I grab my earphones out of habit, but they feel almost foreign now - just another reminder of the way things used to be. It’s been a week since I broke up with him, and I don’t even need the damn Bluetooth device anymore. Still, the silence in my room is deafening, filling every corner with a loneliness that clings to me like a second skin.
I tell myself I’m not going to spend another night drowning in sorrow, replaying our last three years over and over in my head. No, not tonight. I’m tired of loathing my stars, of feeling the weight of a present that feels so remote. So, instead of giving in to the ache, I decide to channel it - maybe I can make something of this pain, turn it into words.
I push the phone aside, grab a pen and a piece of paper, and start to scribble. If I can’t escape the thoughts that haunt me, I might as well let them spill onto the page, more writer-like, more. . . professional. This letter won’t go anywhere, but maybe it’ll help me find some semblance of an outburst, something that I very desperately need.
Jarod,
One more night without you. I feel drunk on solitude, and here I am, writing this letter I know I’ll never send.
I was the one who called it quits, but how do I forget that not many fit as perfectly in your arms as I did? Like a jigsaw puzzle made for each other, yet so lost individually.
All around me, there are reminders - sweet memories that have turned sour. Where do I go with the silence that shrieks so loudly in my head every time I realize we don’t talk anymore? Screaming whispers push me closer to the edge, tempting me to beg you to get us back on track. I haven’t gone too far, for I still believe in ‘better late than never’, for I believe in a ‘maybe’ rather than an ‘implausible’.
They say to value the tears I now shed for the dreams we built together, dreams I saw with my eyes wide open, clear as glass. Those dreams now lay shattered, but even so, I would still hurt my hand collecting the pieces. What if, through them, I finally see the glint of the day?
But for now, I’ll keep this letter unsent, just another thought that I’ll keep to myself.
Maya
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P.S. Here's what I’ve been loving on Substack this week:
‘sent from my iPad’ by
- a poignant piece. It’s like a window into vulnerability and self-reflection, capturing a mix of regret, self-awareness, and a sense of longing.‘One more night’ by
- captures a deep sense of yearning and intimacy, almost like a fleeting moment of connection that’s both precious and fragile.PS. Oops! It seems we’re on the same wavelength - sorry for the namesake, Mary!
‘What Lasts and (Mostly) Doesn't Last’ by
- captures the essence of how fleeting literary fame can be, and the author’s reflections on why some works endure while others fade are thought-provoking. Even the biggest cultural phenomena of today could eventually fade, and it’s indeed wise to focus on creating and enjoying work that resonates with you personally.
What have you all been following this week? Let me know in the comments!!
Sending love 💌
Beautiful read! And I’m touched that you shared my piece here, too 🥹 thank you! 🙏🏼
The first thing that came to mind after reading your flash fiction is "the night is long-Soviet WW2 Song." Your words create an effect equivalent to music.