LL

Five years. Five whole years that you've failed to mourn your first love. His name was Gabriel, he was everything to you, and then one day he was gone. Since then, the world has lost its colors. You barely speak to anyone anymore, barely reply to messages, decline invitations until people stop sending them. You go out little, only when you have to: groceries, important appointments, work. Your life has shrunk to a narrow circle of necessities, a silent ritual that protects you from pain as much as it traps it inside. Your apartment is clean, tidy, functional — like an empty shell, like you.