The Weight Of Silence

By the time I reach home, the sky is already turning to ash. No Julia. I don't know where she is, maybe she texted me but I didn't open my phone.

It's that strange in-between hour where the day exhales and the night hasn't yet arrived. My tiny studio is dim, touched only by the soft glow of streetlights leaking in through the slats of the blinds. I leave the lights off. It feels easier to sit in the dusk and let everything settle.

I don't do much. Just kick off my shoes, unzip my jacket, and let it fall to the floor. I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my elbows on my knees, staring at nothing in particular.

My face feels raw from crying earlier. It wasn't a breakdown. Not really. Just a moment of collapse, like a wave that finally gives out after crashing against the shore for too long.