Dark Night

The night felt endless, stretching out like a vast, dark ocean with no shore in sight. Alone in my apartment, the weight of the day pressed in on me. Mia was gone, her absence a bitter echo, and my life felt like it was spinning out of control. The silence was almost deafening, filling every corner of the room and leaving me no escape from the thoughts that clawed at my mind. I'd hurt Mia because I'd been unable to let go of the past—or the fragments of it that clung to me like shadows.

I sank onto the couch, rubbing my temples as a restless energy stirred within me. My memories—the ones that had haunted and taunted me for months—started to swirl again, sharper now, more demanding. They rose to the surface with the relentless persistence of ghosts that refused to be ignored. But for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted them. These memories had twisted my life, fractured my relationships, and left me haunted by a history that wasn't even mine.

*What was the point of any of this?* I wondered bitterly. *Why am I holding onto something that's tearing my present apart?*

I closed my eyes, letting the memories flood my mind like waves crashing against a fragile shoreline.

In one memory, I saw myself—another version of myself—standing on a desolate battlefield. I was dressed in armor, my face streaked with sweat and blood as I looked down at the lifeless body of someone I'd known well. My hand trembled as I clutched a sword, the weight of guilt pressing down on me. I'd been responsible, somehow. I'd made a choice that led to this loss, and the grief that tore through me was more intense than anything I'd felt in this life. It was a pain so raw, it left me gasping for air, as though I were suffocating in the present. The person I'd lost… had they been like Mia? Someone who trusted me, believed in me, only to be left with regret?

The memory dissolved, replaced by another—this time in a grand, candlelit room where I was dancing with someone who held my heart. The music was soft, filling the air with a warmth that seemed to light up the room. I could feel the weight of love and responsibility heavy on my chest. I'd loved this person deeply, and they had loved me in return. But as the memory shifted, a sense of dread crept in, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it had come. I'd made a promise I couldn't keep, and I'd betrayed them in some way. That betrayal, that failure, lingered in me even now. It was as though every attempt I made in the present to open my heart was met with that same sense of impending failure.

Then there was another memory—a bright, open meadow. I was standing beside a river, watching as someone walked away from me, their back straight, their head held high. I wanted to call out to them, to tell them I'd changed, that I'd learned from my mistakes. But the words wouldn't come. I stood frozen, rooted in place as they disappeared from sight. The pain of watching them go, of being powerless to stop it, cut through me like a knife.

When I opened my eyes, the room was still dark, the memories lingering in the silence around me, each one a reminder of the people I'd lost, the connections I'd severed, and the regrets that had followed me through lifetimes. I'd loved deeply before, but each time, I'd left a trail of broken promises and shattered hearts. 

In the flickering light of the streetlamp outside, I finally faced the truth I'd been avoiding: my memories weren't just remnants of the past. They were a reflection of a pattern—a pattern of hurting the people I cared about, of pushing them away because I was too afraid to let anyone get close enough to really know me.

I thought about Mia, about Jordan. I'd failed both of them in different ways, all because I was still tethered to ghosts I could barely remember. I'd kept Jordan at arm's length, hiding behind the guise of memories and responsibilities I didn't fully understand. And with Mia, I'd used her as a distraction, hoping she could save me from the weight of a love I couldn't reconcile.

I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers trembling. *What was the point of all this remembering if it only brought more pain? Why should I care about these people from my past if it cost me every chance at happiness in this life?*

A surge of anger rose in me, directed at the universe, at fate, at whatever force was responsible for this curse of memory. I wanted to scream, to break free from the shackles of a past that refused to let me go. *What good were memories that only served to remind me of my failures?*

I stood up, pacing the room, the frustration bubbling over into a desperate rage. This life, this chance to build something real, was slipping through my fingers, and I felt powerless to stop it. All I'd wanted was to live my life, to find love and purpose on my own terms. But instead, I was haunted by echoes of people and places I could barely understand.

Then, in the quiet, another thought surfaced, cold and unforgiving: *Maybe this is who I am—a person destined to hurt the ones I love, to repeat the same mistakes over and over.*

The thought cut deep, and for a moment, I felt like I was drowning in the weight of it all. Maybe I wasn't meant to find happiness in this life. Maybe these memories were punishment, a reminder of the damage I'd done, a warning to keep my distance from anyone who might care about me.

I sank down onto the floor, my head in my hands. I didn't know how long I sat there, lost in the depths of my thoughts, but by the time I looked up, the first light of dawn was breaking through the window.