ALEXANDRA'S POV
The days bled into each other, an endless stretch of gray. I spent most of my time in our—my—bedroom, wrapped in Alexander's clothes, hugging his pillow to my chest. His scent still lingered, a cruel reminder of the warmth and safety he once provided. The bed felt too big, too empty without him. Each night, I lay in the dark, clutching his pillow as if it were a lifeline, tears soaking the fabric until I finally succumbed to an exhausted sleep.
The apartment was silent, a hollow echo of the life we once shared. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bedroom, the rest of the place felt too foreign, too full of memories that cut deeper than any physical wound. I wore his shirts, his hoodies, and anything that made me feel closer to him, though it only amplified the void inside me.
Every day was a struggle to function. I moved through the motions like a ghost, my body on autopilot while my mind replayed every moment with Alexander. I found myself sitting at the table, staring at the chair where he used to sit, or standing in the kitchen, unable to cook because it reminded me of the meals we made together. Everything was a trigger, and the pain was relentless.
I didn't talk to anyone. I couldn’t bear the pitying looks or the empty reassurances. The townspeople were kind, but they didn't understand the depth of my loss. Alexander wasn't dead, but it felt as though he was. This was a mourning like no other, a grief that had no resolution. I was mourning the future we would never have, the love that had been torn away by dreams that seemed trivial compared to the hole they left behind.
I had acted cold towards Alexander in those last weeks, trying to protect myself from the inevitable pain of his departure. I thought that if I distanced myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much when he finally left. But now, that coldness was my prison, and I regretted every moment I pushed him away. The love I tried to bury came back to haunt me, stronger and more painful than ever.
I spent hours staring at the ceiling, lost in the memories of our time together. The way he used to smile at me, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his arms around me. Each memory was a knife, twisting deeper with every thought. I missed him so much it felt like I couldn’t breathe, like a part of me had been ripped away.
The days turned into weeks, and I barely noticed the passage of time. I existed in a state of numbness, unable to find joy in anything. Even the first snow of December, which used to bring so much excitement, was just another reminder of the cold emptiness I felt inside.
The holidays loomed ahead, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to my pain. Christmas lights twinkled mockingly in the distance, a stark contrast to the darkness that consumed me. I avoided looking at the decorations, the reminders of a season that was supposed to be filled with love and warmth, because all I felt was the chill of loneliness.
One particularly cold morning, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, Alexander’s pillow clutched tightly in my arms. I buried my face in it, inhaling his scent, and let the tears come. They flowed freely, soaking the pillow as sobs wracked my body. It felt like I was breaking apart, every piece of me shattered and scattered.
I mourned for him as if he were dead, even though he was out there, somewhere, chasing his dreams. It was the first time I allowed myself to truly feel the depth of my grief, to acknowledge the pain that had been festering inside me. The loss was unbearable, and the silence in the apartment was deafening.
I cried until I had no more tears left, my body exhausted and my heart aching. The reality of Alexander’s absence was like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating and unrelenting. I hugged his pillow tighter, wishing with all my heart that he would walk through the door, that this nightmare would end.
But he didn’t. And I knew he wouldn’t.
I lay back down, curling up in a ball, and closed my eyes. The world outside continued to move on, but I was stuck in this endless loop of pain and longing. The only thing I could do was hold on to the memories and hope that someday, the hurt would fade. But for now, it was all-consuming, a reminder of the love that had been ripped away from me, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.
December slipped by in a blur of pain and heartache. The holiday season, once a time of joy and warmth, became a cruel reminder of the emptiness I felt. Each day was a struggle to get through, but I forced myself to function. I returned to work at the supermarket, hiding my sorrow behind a forced smile. I engaged in small talk with customers, laughed at jokes, and pretended that everything was fine. But inside, I was shattered.
Every evening, as I walked home, I hoped to see Alexander waiting for me. I pictured him standing at the door, his familiar smile lighting up his face, ready to pull me into his arms and make everything better. The image of him was the only thing that kept me going, the faint hope that he would come back and everything would return to how it used to be.
But each night, I returned to an empty apartment. The silence was suffocating, the loneliness unbearable. I would sit in the living room, staring at the door, willing it to open. I imagined hearing his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his key turning in the lock. I dreamed of the moment he would walk in, sweep me off my feet, and tell me that he had come back for me. But night after night, the door remained closed, and I was left alone with my broken heart.
Weeks turned into months, and the pain didn’t lessen. I counted the days since he left, each one a dagger in my chest. The hope that once sustained me began to fade, replaced by a hollow ache. I tried to move on, to accept that he was gone, but I couldn’t let go. I clung to the memories, replaying our moments together over and over in my mind, as if they were a lifeline keeping me afloat in a sea of despair.
The seasons changed, and the world moved on. Spring brought new life and color to the town, but I remained trapped in my grief. Summer came and went, the warmth and light a stark contrast to the cold emptiness inside me. Fall arrived, and with it, the anniversary of Alexander’s departure. The pain was just as fresh as the day he left, the wound still raw and bleeding.
I waited for him every day, hoping against hope that he would return. I left the porch light on at night, a beacon guiding him home. I kept his things just as he left them, unable to bear the thought of packing them away. His shirts hung in the closet, his shoes by the door, his favorite mug on the kitchen counter. They were all reminders of the life we shared, the love we had, and the future that was ripped away.
Christmas came again, and the town was filled with festive cheer. But for me, it was another reminder of what I had lost. I avoided the decorations, the carols, and the celebrations. I spent the holiday alone, wrapped in his sweater, tears streaming down my face as I stared at the twinkling lights outside.
New Year’s Eve arrived, and I found myself at the window, watching the fireworks light up the sky. Each burst of color felt like a knife in my heart, a stark contrast to the darkness inside me. I whispered a silent prayer that the new year would bring him back to me, but deep down, I knew it was a futile hope.
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and before I knew it, two years had passed. Two long, agonizing years without him. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, the weight of the time we had lost crashing down on me. I had been waiting, hoping, and praying for his return, but he was still gone.
I looked around the apartment, the emptiness overwhelming. The silence was deafening, the loneliness crushing. I walked to the closet, pulled out one of his shirts, and hugged it to my chest. His scent was faint now, barely there, but it was enough to bring back the memories. I sank to the floor, my tears soaking the fabric, my sobs echoing in the empty room.
The pain was unbearable, the loss all-consuming. I had spent two years waiting for him, but he was still gone. And as the reality of it all settled in, I felt a part of me die. The hope that had kept me going faded away, replaced by a numb acceptance. I had to face the truth: he wasn’t coming back.
But even as I tried to accept it, a small part of me still held on. I couldn’t let go of the love we shared, the dreams we had. I couldn’t stop hoping that one day, he would walk through that door and make everything right again. Until then, I would keep waiting, keep hoping, and keep loving him, no matter how much it hurt.
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