I am writing this because if I don't, the day will pretend it never happened.
The city looks the same. The road outside my window is still loud. Cars pass like they always do. People laugh somewhere below. Life did not stop just because something ended for me.
That is the strange part.
Nothing changes when love leaves.
I woke up early today. I did not need an alarm. My body already knew. The room felt too large, like something had been taken from it. His cup was still on the table. I washed it and put it away, even though I did not need to. I just wanted my hands to move.
I checked my phone.
No message.
I did not expect one.
I used to wait. I used to count minutes. I used to tell myself that silence meant busy, not gone. Today, silence meant exactly what it was.
Gone.
I did not cry. Not yet. Crying needs time, and today was already full.
I folded his shirt. The blue one. The one he liked because it was soft. I pressed it flat, careful, as if he might still wear it. I do not know why I kept doing that. Habit, maybe. Or hope that forgot it was no longer welcome.
When everything was packed, the room felt clean. Too clean. Like a place no one lived in.
I sat on the floor for a while. The clock on the wall kept ticking. It did not slow down for me. It never does. I watched the second hand move in a circle again and again, always returning to the same place, never stopping.
Time is cruel in that way. It pretends to repeat, but it never truly does.
I left the apartment before noon. I locked the door and stood there longer than needed. My hand stayed on the handle. I thought maybe if I waited, something would change.
Nothing did.
The elevator mirror showed my face. I looked older. Not by years, but by weight. Like something heavy had settled behind my eyes. I tried to smile, just to see if I could. It worked, but it felt wrong, so I stopped.
Outside, the air was warm. The sky was clear. It was a good day. That made it worse.
I walked without direction. I crossed streets I knew too well. Places we had been passed me quietly, like they were pretending not to recognize me. The cafe where he once waited because I was late. The crossing where he held my hand because I was afraid of traffic. Small memories. Sharp ones.
I did not go inside any of them.
I ended up at the river. The water moved slowly, but it never stopped. I leaned on the rail and watched it carry pieces of light. I wondered how many endings it had seen. How many people stood where I was standing, thinking their pain was new.
I wanted to be angry.
I wanted to blame him.
I wanted to blame myself.
But anger needs energy, and love took most of mine when it left.
What remains is quiet.
I thought about all the things I could write here. All the truths I could finally admit. But this diary was never for truth. It was for holding things until they stopped shaking.
So I will write what I can.
Utsan is gone.
Not missing.
Not late.
Gone.
I do not know if he thinks of me today. I do not know if he feels light or heavy. I do not know if he believes this was the right choice.
I only know that I am still here.
That sounds brave when written down. It does not feel brave. It feels like standing after a fall because the ground is cold.
I went home before sunset. I made dinner for one. I ate half and threw the rest away. I washed the plate right after. I did not want dishes waiting for me tomorrow. Tomorrow already has enough waiting.
Now I am here, sitting by the window, writing this. The city lights are turning on one by one. From far away, they look like stars. From here, they are just bulbs fighting the dark.
This is my last entry.
Not because there is nothing left to say, but because I finally understand something.
Some stories are not meant to be continued.
They are meant to be survived.
If I keep writing, I will keep reaching backward, and I am tired of reaching for something that no longer reaches back.
So I will stop here.
If anyone ever reads this, they might think this is the end. It will look like one. Endings usually do.
But I know better now.
This is only the farthest point I could walk while looking back.
Tomorrow, I will move forward.
Even if I don't know how yet.
This is where it ends.