This is the journey I never learned to stop:

eight chapters written in ash,

with shadows breathing in my room

and a heartbeat surviving in the ruins.

Here I keep my blue nights,

my fears, my open wounds,

the loves that never arrived

and the ones that broke me trying to.

Each chapter is a different fall,

an echo of who I was

and what I’m still trying to leave behind.

If you read these lines, you enter with me

into this cycle that burns and burns again:

LOOP VII — ashfall,

my story of loving, losing,

and standing upright in the smoke.

Darkness breathes down my neck.

My room is an ocean with no lighthouse,

everything washed in tired blue, in crumbling grey.

Days fade backwards, but I don’t.

I just watch the world drift away

while my hands reach nothing.

I stay quiet.

Quiet, even when I’m screaming inside.

Inside my head, there’s a bar that never closes.

Outside everything burns, but I hide behind the noise.

I watch the lights flicker,

the bodies collide,

lives breaking like bottles on the floor.

And I stay still,

pretending nothing is happening,

as if watching was enough to survive.

The music hits harder than my heartbeat.

I don’t think, I don’t understand, I don’t belong.

I just exist:

two feet that refuse to fall,

a body that endures,

a mind unraveling without warning.

My life walks past me,

and I don’t even look at it.

The whole story is still burning.

The memory of falling in love

with the one I swore would never become my wound.

Now I look back and wonder

if I truly never saw it coming,

or if I closed my eyes on purpose

because I was doomed from the start.

I dance, I laugh, I blur into the smoke.

I cover myself in borrowed colors

to hide the collapse inside.

I’m a body pretending to live,

while quietly drowning in my own fears.

I don’t say it,

but I’m breaking.

Reality bites and doesn’t let go.

You’ve given me enough proof:

your life has no space for me.

And still, I stay, clinging

to this love like a wild horse—

a force that drags me,

hurts me,

refuses to be tamed.

I remain, even if it hurts.

Even if it destroys me.

No one understands the way I love.

Sometimes I wonder if someday

someone will want to hold it.

I watch my friends begin and end stories,

living what I only imagine.

And here I am, clinging to an impossible love—

something that will never happen,

but still, I can’t let go.

Yes, it hurts—

more than you could ever guess.

Every day I hope for a change,

but you treat me the same,

with promises that never become real.

The smallest gesture from you breaks me,

because part of me still wants to believe.

But deep down I know it’s time to leave,

to close the door rotting in my heart

every time I stay.

And even if it hurts, I know I have to let go.

If I can’t love you,

maybe the answer is to hate you.

I try, I fail,

and I try again.

I let anger flood my chest,

let rage do the dirty work,

because love no longer saves me

and hate, at least, helps me let you go.

It’s not justice—

it’s survival.

The party is over.

The deafening noise is gone.

All that’s left are ruins,

a hangover that hurts more than the night itself.

It’s just this room and me now—

alone, abandoned,

listening to the quiet

I kept running from.

I never minded being on my own.

Maybe it was written that way.

A prophecy I kept ignoring

until it caught up with me.

Now I have to learn

how to let you go,

not with anger,

not with hope—

just with silence.

This is the last chapter.

No music.

No lights.

Just me,

still standing.