I deleted the text I was about to send for the 5th time in two hours, the second third time today. I should stop. I should finally let him go. I should erase the memories of three years and move on. It could be easy. It’s always easier said.

   It was unnaturally cold that night. I got back home from my part time job at the diner and was exhausted. I hadn’t heard a thing from him all day and I refused to be the one to text first this time. It felt like I was the only one holding on to a dying relationship, a dead love. Funny as it sounds, I got dumped over a text. He couldn’t face me, didn’t give me a reason, just that he was done.

   I cried. The only thing I could do. I sat in silence for as long as I could and thought. The memories of our happiness now taunted me, a bittersweet reminder of what I’d lost. On the days he left, the sun still set and rose, the birds still sang, the rain fell more as if sympathizing with me, the moon still shone it’s light, but my world had crumbled, leaving only shadows and silence. I wandered my empty rooms, looking for echoes of his presence, but even his scent had vanished, like he took it with him. The though of him, however, lingered. Like whispers in the darkness, they haunted me.