Love isn't always a warm light. Sometimes it's a cold rain, tapping on the glass where you write the final "I love you" with your finger, knowing it no longer matters. We hold hands, we move forward, but inside, the very thread that bound us has long since been severed. The heart isn't just broken—it's cracked, like concrete, the crack growing too deep to heal.

The most painful thing is the realization. You give someone your entire world, you show them how much you need them, how empty it is without them, but they still leave. And you're left alone. In complete darkness. With the dim light of the screen and the oppressive silence in your headphones. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from reality, but it catches up. Loneliness isn't just the absence of people around. It's when you're drinking alone, staring into space, and you realize that even loud music can't drown out the ringing emptiness inside.

You squat in a dark corner, shutting yourself off from the world because you can't bear to look at the light anymore. You smoke to somehow fill the emptiness in your chest, but the smoke goes away, and the pain remains. This is depression—when you love but no longer believe, when you want to scream but remain silent, when you simply wait for someone to come and save you, but it's too late. All that remains is a black-and-white film of memories and the bitter taste of what was once love.