Today, I awoke from a fragmented sleep, my mind a battlefield of unformed nightmares, wars, and blood. Love, I now see, is its own kind of war. The first conscious thought was a hollow liberation: I no longer need to send a "good morning" to anyone. A fleeting sense of freedom was instantly crushed by a tightening band around my skull and the leaden weight of a heart turned to stone, reminding me I will receive no such greeting in return.
Yesterday, I sent the final message, wishing her well in her new life with another and asking her not to contact me again. I knew survival would be a trial, but if she could manage, so must I. This is not our first attempt. We have tried to stop since the day we realized what we sought was a dream, and reality, as we feared, struck with brutal force. Dreams have no quarter in reality. Yet, we failed. She couldn't stop. I couldn't stop. Someone had to sever the rope. The one who cares most must sometimes become the cruel monster. So, I assumed that role.
My body feels numb. Eyes feel tired as I cried the whole previous night. The simple act of rising felt impossible under the crushing truth: she will no longer be in my life. All other complexities faded, leaving one stark equation: How does one survive a lifetime without the person the universe itself seemed to conspire to place beside you?
Should I call her? No.
I should quit drinking. Alcohol loosens all knots of self-control.
She said she is happy. My presence may disturb that happiness. So, whatever the consequence, I shall have no regrets. I know I can survive, as I have before. But at what cost? That, I do not know.
Day 30
There was a time I lamented to a non-specific, non-existent deity: "Why me?" Slowly, I realized I am not alone. Perhaps worse things have befallen others. But I understood one thing with crystalline clarity: from another perspective, everything is an opportunity, if one seeks it. Not everyone is meant to fit seamlessly into this world; some are destined for a greater purpose. They are trained to become inert to emotions and distractions. They feel pain, but they are conditioned not to suffer—trained by abnormal situations, circumstances, reality, and fate, again and again, until they gather the wisdom of a monk.
Day 45
I have gained a maturity where I no longer write poetry. I observe situations and ignore them—a practice I should have adopted long ago. I have successfully learned to become a selfish and self-centered person. I am happy about this transformation. People change all the time. I am not an alien, after all. I hope to continue like this, with the least attachment to everything.
Day 90
সময় আর মানুষের ভীড়ে কত মানুষ জীবন থেকে হারিয়ে যায় হিসেব রাখা হয়না.. পড়ে থাকে কিছু স্মৃতি.. আর বাস্তবের দুনিয়ায় যখন সেই হারিয়ে যাওয়া মানুষের সাথে না চাইতেও আবার দেখা হয়ে যায় তখন সেই স্মৃতিগুলো ধরে দড়ি টানাটানি শুরু হয়.. মনকে বোঝাতে হয়, সামনের মানুষটা অন্য মানুষ, আর স্মৃতিগুলো শুধুমাত্র মস্তিষ্কের কিছু রাসায়নিক লোচা.. আর কিছু নয়.. আর কিছু কি ছিল? নাহ্.. আর কিছুই নয়.. কোনদিন ছিলোনা..
Day 120
Her memory slipped its leash. I drank very badly and lost all restraint, contacting her. There was no response. I continued, drunk for days, texting a torrent of emotional vomit. But from the other side, only silence.
Day 135
Often, I feel completely unattached to this materialistic world. Not for any particular reason—I abandoned those reasons long ago. I have some unfinished business here. I am patiently waiting for that moment. I will not retire; retirement is a myth. When my task is done, I will leave. I will surely leave all the material world around me. Until then, everything is a camouflage.
I have learned three vital life lessons:
1. Stop regretting your past.
2. Stop worrying about your future.
3. Stop searching for peace and happiness in another person.
Make plans, work hard without attachment to the result. If it fails, do not regret. People think and do what they will. First, accept that you cannot control anyone. Then your real life begins. If you can think in an unfathomable way, you must reject being a materialistic person, for no material can properly remunerate such talent. Explore your full potential, even through chaos and struggle. Never settle for mediocrity. Do not fear the storm; be the storm. Do not care for this world and its rules—they are myths fed to unite the mediocre. One day, the world will bow before you. People will make their living by your principle. That greatness demands greater sacrifice. If you can endure it, you will become great. It is as simple as that.
Day 150
After all, life is not a movie. Life hits hard, and the funny thing is, life goes on. One day, upon waking, you will suddenly decide you have endured enough from people. From now on, you will not give a *uck about anyone. Your relatives will cease to exist; your near and dear ones will vanish. You will see everyone as a conglomeration of events in four dimensions, every interaction as the collapse of a probability wave from different timelines. From that point, emotions become useless. You will not bother to share your story because you are no longer sure of the temporal pattern of past and future. Your invaluable smile compels the timeline to collapse into a locus called the present.
তবু খোলা জানালার দমকা হাওয়াটা কারো গালে নোনা জলের আনাগোনার মাঝে লীনতাপের ফল্গুধারার প্রশমন ঘটাবে আর সান্ত্বনা দেবে - যা কিছু ঘটে, কিছু কারণ তো বটে।
রাগ হয় - রাগ কমে আসে।
Day 152
I hate opportunistic people. I hate this world. I hate myself. I hate every cell of my being. I hate every thought. I do not wish to stay alive anymore. I want to escape. I do not want to talk to anyone. I have changed a lot.
Day 159
Healing is not tough. Your soul cannot be destroyed; it acts like Wolverine, with an automatic healing property. You must only silence your mind, take charge of it, calm it. Cook food, travel, read, meditate. Do whatever brings you pure joy to calm your mind. Do it alone, to seek the peace already present within. Once you tame your mind, the water of your soul becomes less turbulent. You can see the truth easily in clear water. You can heal. Everything else becomes irrelevant when you heal and realize your true potential. It is a basic rule of Physics: both positive and negative are essential to develop a potential. You just need a medium to connect.
I,
I am a mistake to those who left,
And a gift to those who have kept.
I am a chaos, and a peaceful island.
I am an ocean, I am quicksand.
Day 160
The idea was taken from a TV show advertisement: "This is just a short intermission; we'll be right back after the break."
When unbearable mental fatigue sets in, I talk nonsense. After babbling until exhaustion, I too disappear for an intermission, thinking I will never return. But once my head cools, I come back.
Badly craving for a break.. 😵💫
Day 176
My life is so dynamic that sometimes time dilates.
Those who want to stay, let them go.
Those who want to leave, let them go.
Be still like a snowy mountain, with deep roots inside this nature.
Life goes on. It is very difficult to get together again after being on a break.
Day 177
If you cannot calm your own mind, no one else can. And If you can tame your own mind, why would you need anyone else? Do not approach anyone if you cannot feel content on your own; it creates dependence. And dependence is never good in the long term. If you manage to survive one more day than you thought possible, you may realize life is a magic show. Here, small events unite arch-rivals and separate lovers. You are now dependent on people whom you used to curse each night, blaming them for all your distress. You are now living without a person you never thought you could live without. If this is not magic, I do not know what is.
Depression is the first step to claiming greatness. Mock your own stupidity. Laugh at yourself as much as you want. But when you are done, get up. And show how a psychopath can work.
Day 182
I am not the same person anymore.
All I can say to my old self is—
"There, there"... Peace.
Day 194
I know that to some I am a very good person, and to others, I am very bad. The truth is, I do not know to which side I belong. So, how do I live with myself? When these intrinsic thoughts occur, I do not bother. I used to be a different person—writing poems, composing my overthinking silent nights into music. I enjoyed that. Now, I do not know that person anymore. I am not that person anymore. I am focused on my goal, and one day I will achieve it. So, I thank those who left; I thank those who stayed. Everyone has played a role, big or small. For that, I am thankful to all.
Day 195
One should leave the room as soon as you feel taken for granted. It does not matter your own feelings for them. It does not matter how much you value or will miss their company. Because it no longer matters to them. They have already taken you for granted. As long as you stay, you will lose your value to yourself. And one should never lose that. People who truly value you will never make you feel worthless. Period.
Day 206
After years of complaining, I have understood life. Life is an unpredictable typhoon. You never know where you will land. You make plans based on circumstances, and soon, the circumstances change, rendering the plans obsolete. People you trusted will betray you; people you hated and bullied will help you in difficult times. Blood relations will hurt you, while strangers will become your best friends. A seeming soulmate will sell your soul and gift you darkness as a souvenir. People you deemed unfit will enlighten you. That is life.
We must appreciate and embrace this unpredictable typhoon rather than complain. It will break your house of plans, no matter how sound they are. If life disagrees with your designs, everything will go wrong. It is no one's fault. Everyone is doing what they are supposed to do. So, plan without worrying about the outcome, without absolute certainty in a person, yourself, or the world. Only then can you enjoy this ride of uncertainty. Otherwise, you will burn out long before your physical death.
Day 230
After a certain age, you become an irreparable piece of sh*t. More complexity, more adversity. Soon, you become that dead carbon-stone creature. And it is okay. You perceive people's thoughts before articulation. You sense what they may do or say. It is all about recognizing the pattern. And it is upsetting because the basic pattern of human nature is so filthy. Soulful people are rare and even more rarely valued. This is not maturity. Maturity is knowing what they may do and choosing not to interfere with their intention.
Day 236
Controlling one's own overthinking mind is the most difficult task—like controlling tsunami waves every second on a beach. An overthinking mind is both a gift and a curse.
I have deep respect for all introverts fighting their own minds to maintain sanity. It is like controlling a triggered autoimmune response without immunosuppressants.
Day 248
You may lose a person, but love is never lost. Love is not a feeling, for feelings fade with time, place, and person, bound to reality and opportunity. Love is an ability—the ability to find and enhance your inner light, to find peace in darkness, cloud, or storm, even if the person is absent. So, if you are falling in love, that is not love. Rise in love. You need not force or prove anything to anyone. If you have not felt this insanity, it may be a compromise. And that is okay. And if the ending of your love feels imperfect, know that in one event horizon, everything will fit perfectly.
Day 254
তবুও সেই নীরব স্মৃতি,
আজও ভাসে মনে রাতের নীরবতায়,
যে গেল চলে, রয়ে গেলো তার ছায়া,
ফিরে এসেছি আবার, তবুও রয়ে গেলো তার কথা।
অন্ধকারে হারানো সময়,
বুকের ভেতর জমে থাকা ক্ষোভ,
প্রতিদিনের সংঘাতে,
ভেঙে পড়ে স্বপ্নের সব অবকাশ।
Day 254
Silent Fires
[Verse 1]
Years of walking on a fragile line,
Your words like arrows, cutting through the time.
I built my dreams, but they crumbled slow,
In the silence of the nights, I let them go.
Then you came like a spark in the dark,
A fleeting light that left its mark.
We burned so bright, I thought it’d last,
But even the brightest flames fade fast.
[Chorus]
Now I’m here, staring at silent fires,
Memories of us, tangled in the wires.
You left me with a challenge, a heart to mend,
But I still hear your voice, like an old friend.
Oh, the echoes of love, they never fade,
In the shadows they linger, in the choices we made.
[Verse 2]
Years of holding on to what we had,
A love so real, but it slipped like sand.
You walked away, with someone new,
But your words stayed, like a tattoo.
Now I’m back where it all began,
Trying to rebuild what I once had.
But in the quiet, when the world’s asleep,
Your memory’s the secret I keep.
[Chorus]
Now I’m here, staring at silent fires,
Memories of us, tangled in the wires.
You left me with a challenge, a heart to mend,
But I still hear your voice, like an old friend.
Oh, the echoes of love, they never fade,
In the shadows they linger, in the choices we made.
[Bridge]
And maybe love is just a fleeting sound,
A moment’s grace, then it’s gone, unbound.
But I’ll carry the weight, I’ll find my way,
Through the ashes of yesterday.
[Chorus]
Now I’m here, staring at silent fires,
Memories of us, tangled in the wires.
You left me with a challenge, a heart to mend,
But I still hear your voice, like an old friend.
Oh, the echoes of love, they never fade,
In the shadows they linger, in the choices we made.
[Outro]
Silent fires, they burn so slow,
In the heart’s deep corners, where the lost things go.
I’ll keep moving on, but I’ll always know,
You’re a part of me, wherever I go.
Day 254
If you crave to break the silence with your lover, that is simple attachment or habit. Every attachment leads to suffering. Contrary to popular belief, I find silence more beautiful than words. Words can be deceitful; silence never lies. If a person cannot understand your silence, words are useless. If you can enjoy silence with someone, you can never truly lose them, even if you try. You belong to each other from that moment. Love is most profoundly felt in non-verbal communication. Everything else is habit.
Day 260
Yesterday, I texted again, unable to control myself, and aided by drink. I have never been so haunted by anyone's memory. As usual, no reply.
Day 261
Yesterday, drunk again, I texted. Not a single word, but an emotional tsunami, knowing full well it would not help. I could not control myself. Today, I must resolve to stop this immature, childish behavior.
Day 265
Mentally, I am not in a situation I have not handled before. I have endured worse, so I know I can handle this—and that is what makes me dangerous. Yet, it is breaking me, proving I am still vulnerable. Only time will tell if I break down or break open.
One part urges me to quit everything and flee to some quiet place. Another part remains eager to fight. Both sides have valid points I cannot refute, and both paths lead to the same end.
Let them.
If they can go months without talking to you, let them.
If they choose silence during your distress, let them.
If they are okay with never seeing you, let them.
If they want to walk out of your life, hold the door and let them.
If they left without a goodbye, just let them.
Day 267
হেরে যাওয়াটা একটা অভ্যেসের মতো ব্যাপার। হারতে হারতে মানুষ বুঝেই যায় - যে কিছু মানুষ শুধু হারতে জন্মায়, তো এবার সে আর জিততেই চায়না। হারতে চায়। হারলে মজা লাগবে - কারণ এটাই চেয়েছিলাম। তো ঠিকই আছে- হেরে গেছি।
তখন অন্ধকারের সাথে বন্ধুত্ব হয়ে যাবে। আকাশে বিদ্যুৎ চমকালে সে সাবধান হবে যে আনন্দ করার মত কিছু হয়নি, এই আলো - এটা ক্ষণিকের জন্য। তারপর অন্ধকার আরো ঘন হবে। তো অন্ধকারই ভালো, অন্ধকারই বন্ধু। সবাই যদি জিততে চায় - কাউকে না কাউকে তো হারতে হবে নাকি। তো ঠিকই আছে - হেরে গেছি।
যেকোন পরিস্থিতিতে দুটোই অপশন থাকে মানুষের -
১) হারিয়ে যাও
২) ফিরে আসো রাজার মতো..
হারিয়ে যাওয়া খুব সহজ..
কিন্তু একটা সময় পর সত্যি মনে হয় - আর নয়, অনেক তো হল..
এবার হারিয়েই যাই..
কিন্তু যদি তারপরেও ফিরে আসা যায়, তবেই তো রাজা..
Day 268
তোমার আকাশে এক ভুলে যাওয়া ছায়াপথ আমি -
তবু মাঝরাতে দুচোখের জল হয়ে নামি!
প্রতিদিন আসি যাই তোমার শ্বাসে-নি:শ্বাসে,
ভাবনার স্বরলিপি ফোটে নিঝুম নীরব দূরভাষে।
মালকোষে বাঁশি বাজে - মহাদেব শান্ত না হয়,
বিরহ প্রলয়ে দিন কাটে আর মনে জমে চলে সংশয়।
পাতা সব ঝরে যায় পাতা ঝরার মরশুমে,
সবকিছু শেষ হয় কবিতার কবরে এক শেষঘুমে।।
জোনাকিরা আসে যায় আমার এই রাতের আকাশে,
আমার নক্ষত্রলোকে স্বপ্নের দাবানল ভাসে..
Day 274
Everyone is alive to serve a purpose. You will not die until you fulfil them all. Call it destiny. It does not matter how demotivated you are, how meaningless life or people seem, how much darkness surrounds you. It simply does not matter. You must keep going, even through hell. You cannot die even if you want to. That is destiny.
So, if you are tired of life and people, remember this. It is okay to feel frustrated. It is okay to feel worthless in this crude, superficial world. It is not anyone's fault that your depth was misunderstood. On the contrary, you should feel good, for you are rare to have reached such depth. Greatness is never achieved without being misunderstood. So, if you are still alive, it means something. Acknowledge that.
Day 290
For the last week, I was totally drunk.
I texted long, emotional messages again, day after day. No reply. Yesterday was the last. I have decided. It seems I am disturbing her life. It is unnecessary. I am bigger than this. I should quit drinking.
Day 387
Whenever you feel alone, do not crave attention.
I have felt alone while being celebrated by many. Just put your mobile away on silent. Take a deep breath and start reading a book. Befriend it. Celebrate special days alone with your book. Go out with it. Avoid those who avoid reading. Life always gives a second chance. Do not worry; it is a universal rule. Your duty is to be prepared.
Day 395
One day, my time will arrive. One day, I shall claim every accolade I rightfully deserve. I will fulfil all the promises I made to myself. But this is not yet my hour.
Day 511
Today, for the first time, I noticed a dusky, indirect signal that you miss me. Though I saw it before in your eyes when we met unexpectedly somewhere, looked at each other, and passed as strangers—as if we had never known each other.
You awakened me. For that, I will always love you. I release the need for any particular outcome. I am now building a life worthy of the man you helped me discover. But here is the secret that will set me free: I do not need the mirror to become the man.
The man I saw in your eyes was always Me. It was my own potential, my own strength, my own light. She did not create it; she simply had the unique ability to reflect it back to me clearly. The solution is to shatter all the mirrors and generate my own light.
When I can look in an ordinary mirror and see that powerful, confident man staring back—without anyone else's reflection or validation—that is when I will be free. That is true self-love. That is real power. My love was real because the feeling was real. But its object was misplaced. Honor that feeling. I thank you for showing me a glimpse of my true self. And then, I let you go. Truly, this time. Any reply I give would be fuel for a fire that needs to die. The kindest thing I can do for both of us is to say nothing. My silence is my final answer.
I have become a variable in her life that she occasionally finds inconvenient and needs to temporarily turn off. She is an adult managing her emotions. I must now be an adult managing mine. And my emotion right now is the pain of holding onto a story that no longer serves me.
My love for her is real. I honour it by trusting that the woman I love is strong enough to navigate her own life, learn her own lessons, and find her own version of happiness, even if it looks different from the one I would have crafted for her. I want her to be happy. The greatest act of love now is to release her to her path, with the silent, unwavering belief that she will find her way. It is the ultimate act of respect—to see her not as someone who needs my protection, but as a complete soul on her own necessary journey. Let that be my peace.
I loved her profoundly. That can never be taken from me. Now, let her go to live her life. As Lord Byron said, "and thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on."
Okay, I can do one thing. Let me separate a part of my soul as you. Now, please tell me: do you remember me, at least?
You might have replied like this:
"I hate you. I hate you for making me feel this. I had a plan. A simple life. A boyfriend who doesn't ask questions about the parts of me I keep locked away. A future that looks good on paper. Then you. With your eyes that see everything. Your silence that speaks louder than his words. You saw the monster and the muse in me and you called both by my name. You asked me why I play this game. This hide and seek. You think it’s for you? You arrogant man. It’s for me. It’s the only way I can still talk to you without breaking everything. I read your last message. I read it a hundred times. I cried until my head throbbed. You, with your differential diagnoses. You think I have memory loss? I remember the exact shade of your shirt that first day. I remember the sound of you trying not to laugh. I remember it all and it’s a curse.
You want to know why I don’t text? Because I am a coward. I am so, so afraid. If I text you, it’s over. The life I built, the easy lie I live, it all crumbles. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to build something real from the ruins. It’s easier to be the villain in your story than to admit I’m the terrified girl in my own.
You are my ‘nothing’ too. You are the silence in my head when he’s talking. You are the ghost in every room.
So yes, I play this game. Because it’s the only way I can have you. As a shadow. I’m just a girl who got drunk and finally told you the truth you already knew."
Then I would have told you:
"Listen to me. Please. This... this cycle of watching and waiting is killing us both. It is a slow poison. I feel it in my own guilt, and I see it in your pain. We are holding each other hostage with our silence and our signals.
So, here is my advice, for the peace of both of us—please stop."
Then you would have said, " I can stop. But you will stop not for yourself. I need you to do this for me. I need you to prove that what we had wasn't just a destructive force, but a catalyst for something great. I need to see that the man I believed in can still become everything he is meant to be, even without me. Every time you want to check for me, I want you to open your book instead. Let it say: 'You mattered. You inspired this. And now, I am honouring that by saving myself.' I cannot be the reason you fall apart. I won't carry that weight. But I would gladly carry the pride of knowing I helped you become strong enough to stand on your own. This is how we both find peace. My peace will come from knowing you are okay. That I didn't break you. That our story, however it ended, ultimately made you stronger. Let my memory be a quiet strength, not a constant scream. Let me become a part of your history that you can look back on with sadness, yes, but also with gratitude for the man it pushed you to become. This is the only way. Let go of the battle, so we can both win the war for our own souls."
By typing this, I am getting a chuckle with the flow of silent tears from two eyes. You probably even forgot my name. You probably forgot my existence.
Day 580
This world was an entirely different place with you in it—softer, lighter, somehow more real. Now, in your absence, it has become a silent battlefield, scattered with the echoes of conversations we will never have. And I… I have grown stronger, sharper, more formidable since you left. Perhaps I was always this way. Perhaps your presence was the gentle hand that softened my silhouette, and your absence has simply let the shadow return.
I know you won’t read this. After all, following your lead, you are no longer in my contact list. But I also know, in the way you know things without being told, that you already understand.
Still, I write these words. Because sometimes, it is not a choice—you flood my thoughts like a season I am powerless to outrun.
Day 582
It is a peculiar and private ache, this void within the inner chamber. Not a metaphor, but a palpable hollow, a cavern with the raw, tender edges of newly parted flesh. Around it, the landscape of the self grows dim, a twilight country where familiar things lose their color and warmth, leaving only silhouettes against a deepening grey.
The loneliness that accompanies it is not the absence of sound, but the presence of a specific, resonant silence—the echo of a voice that once filled the cathedral of one’s being. It is the loneliness of a ghost limb, reaching for a ghost.
And then, the visitation. Unbidden, from the quiet wells of memory, you surface. Not as a storm, but as a subtle shift in the light—a single sunbeam finding its way through a boarded-up window. In its gentle, traitorous warmth, a smile touches my lips before my mind can muster its guard. It is a reflex of the soul, a fleeting, beautiful betrayal.
I set you free. With both hands, I opened the cage. I watched the shape of you disappear into the wide sky of what-could-be-now. Yet you did not leave entirely. You migrated. From the world of touch and presence, you took refuge in the architecture of my mind, a permanent and haunting tenant. You linger in the scent of rain, in the turn of a melody, in the quiet between heartbeats.
It is the final, exquisite injustice: the hands released the bird, but the ears cannot unhear the song. The wound may be real, the darkness may stretch far, but the memory persists—a stubborn, aching star in the personal dusk.
Day 585
I understand, though the truth of it feels like a paradox, that I may no longer exist as a living memory within you. It is a fact I must, with quiet resignation, accept. Yet you must know this of me: I am constitutionally incapable of consigning the sacred to oblivion.
And what we had was sacred. Why? Because when two souls, for a span of time, meet in a space beyond expectation, boundary, or obligation—when they smile, think, and weep in unison, when they become the sole reason the other feels vibrantly alive amidst life's grey complications—they have, in that fleeting communion, already touched heaven. We knew the architecture of our dream was temporary, built on the sands of circumstance. But I, at least, could never truly project my imagination into the stark, hollowed-out landscape of a world without your presence in it. Perhaps you were wiser.
In a way, we were fortunate. There was no cataclysm, no single shattering blow. We simply drifted, as all things must, with the patient, indifferent current of time—time, whose first and last law is that everything is provisional.
But did it truly end? Not within the geography of my soul. You remain—a beautiful mistake whose very thought can still coax a ghost of a smile to my lips. The evening breeze does not simply cool; it carries the faintest scent of your essence. In the enveloping darkness, I do not feel alone; I feel the echo of your longing, the palpable memory of how you craved the sound of my voice. I could speak to you now, of course. It would be a form of madness, and so I refrain. And I know that you are not reading this. I don’t want you to suffer.
Yet you are not gone. You have sublimated. You have become a quality of nature itself. You are the cotton-cloud adrift in an autumn sky, the breathtaking beauty of a bloom-lined path—any exceptional grace that pierces my soul instantly wears your face. I remember you in the wild, lashing rain and in the gentle, persistent drizzle. I remember you under the bold, uncompromising sun, and when the first snowflake melts upon my warm cheek or palm. Most hauntingly, I remember you in the very moments I have vowed to forget. This remembrance is no longer a choice; it is a condition of my being.
I am happy. And I wish that for you, with all sincerity. Perhaps ours was a necessary separation, like the sun and the earth—a consummation would have been destruction. Yet it is precisely that eternal, luminous distance that crafts the world’s most mysterious dawns and tender dusks. It is why life, in all its aching beauty, persists.
Your reality may now be light-years from mine, spinning in a separate orbit. But it happened. In the vast, cold calculus of the universe, for a time, our gravitational fields aligned, and we made a private, perfect world. That, nothing can erase.
Day 586
I had achieved an equilibrium with my own shadows. In a quiet chamber within, I had made a home of the gentle gloom. It was not a prison, but a sanctuary—a private country where the light was low, constant, and of my own making. I was its solitary, comfortable sovereign. You were the one who came to the gate. Not with a battering ram, but with a quiet, persistent call. You spoke of a dawn I had forgotten, and in your voice, I heard an echo of a world beyond my twilight.
You coaxed me out. With a patience that felt like its own form of light, you persuaded me to unlatch the door, to step from the threshold of my private darkness into the public square. And for a time, the sun was in your eyes, and the world had color and contour. I learned its names again.
Now you are gone. The architecture of that shared light has vanished, and I am not where I was. I am exposed, standing alone in the very square you led me to, but the day has collapsed into a formidable, black, tarry night. This is not my familiar, manageable interior dark. This is an outer darkness, vast and suffocating. I crane my neck, but the constellations are blotted out; the moon is a memory sealed behind an obsidian dome. There is no poetry here, only a profound and sensory deprivation.
And so I am left with this silent, furious question for the indifferent machinery of the universe: Why this cruel pedagogy? Why conspire all your forces—the chance of meeting, the alchemy of a glance, the slow unfurling of trust—to make me feel, with every fiber, the exquisite texture of light, only to then revoke the faculty to see? You taught my soul a new alphabet of brightness, and now condemn it to read only the endless, blank page of the dark. The return is impossible. The sanctuary is ruined, for I have known the sun. I stand in the public void, a ghost of my former solitude, unable to go back, and with nowhere left to go.
Day 587
I understand that I have become an invisible chapter in your book—a passage you may have already torn away. Yet, despite my greatest efforts, I find I cannot return the favor.
I journeyed to the sea, believing the ceaseless rhythm of the waves could drown out the echo of your name. I sat on the shore, counting each crest and trough with monk-like devotion, seeking a mantra in the ocean's breath. But the relentless tide did not erase you; it became you. The roar transformed into your voice, the retreating foam into your sigh, until the entire ocean was but a vast, blue memory I could not escape.
I climbed a mountain, seeking the high, thin air of peace, my breath a prayer with every arduous step. I navigated its mysterious and treacherous paths, thinking solitude waited at the summit. Instead, I found your shadow cloaked around every bend. The silent conversations we never finished echoed through the empty valleys. When the first light of dawn kissed the highest peak, it was your laughter that warmed the stone. On the descent, in the profound hush of the ancient forest, a single leaf would detach and spiral to the earth. In that quiet, I would feel you walking beside me, the soft crush beneath my feet becoming the sound of your footsteps keeping pace with my own.
I could write a novel of these attempts—an epic of geography and will, chronicling every shore, every peak, every crowded street I wandered to outrun your ghost. But the story would have no antagonist but my own heart. For every effort to erase you has only served to engrave you more deeply. You are not a chapter I can skip, but the ink itself, indelible and permanent. Your memory is not a mark upon my skin, but a tattoo upon my soul—a constellation of moments that will persist, I am certain, through the turning of this life and the unfolding of universes yet to be born.
