Laine stood on the pier, his back hunched as though the weight of everything they had been, everything they were, was slowly crushing him. The room felt impossibly small, the shadows stretching out as if to swallow him whole. He stared at the empty space between them, the space that had once been filled with laughter, words, and promises. Now, it only held a heavy silence, one that felt more suffocating with every passing second. He couldn’t find the right words for anymore.

He had always been a poet. Words had always been his sanctuary, his escape. But now, they felt as though they were slipping away from him, retreating into the shadows, just like everything else. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words felt foreign, heavy, unrecognizable.

"I-" His throat tightened, and he faltered. The sound of his own voice felt too loud, too fragile, as if the words would shatter on impact. He closed his eyes, trying to force the sentences back into place, but they wouldn’t come. His hands, clenched at his sides, trembled, and he felt a hollow ache deep inside, as if the very act of speaking had become impossible.

A long breath escaped him, too broken to be anything more than a soft sigh. “I thought I could save us," he murmured, his voice hoarse, "but every time I try, I just lose myself." His chest tightened, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say more, but it was as if the words had been drained from him, leaving nothing but emptiness in their wake.

The silence stretched between them, the air thick with the unspoken truth. Laine’s breath hitched as he swallowed, but nothing came after. He was drowning in the quiet, in the absence of the words he used to wield so effortlessly. He didn’t know what was worse: the pain of knowing he had lost himself in this, or the bitter realization that even if he stayed, he was already lost. How had they gotten here? How had it all unraveled without him even knowing? The air felt colder now, as if even the world around him was giving up.