Verse:1
The morning light crept through the cracked window of the small apartment, casting a soft glow on the dust motes that danced lazily in the air. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers nervously tracing the frayed edge of the quilt they had chosen together at that little shop downtown. It was a bright yellow, filled with flowers, a stark contrast to the grayness that now seemed to envelop her world.
Pre-Chorus
She could hear the muffled sounds of packing from the other room. The thud of boxes being stacked, the crinkle of tape being pulled, and the distant hum of a city that continued to move and breathe, oblivious to her heartache. Today was the day. The day he had decided to leave.
Chorus:
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” she called out, her voice trembling slightly. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the rustle of his clothes as he shoved them into a suitcase. It felt like a wound that was slowly being ripped open, revealing the raw, tender flesh beneath.
Interlude:
“Sarah, please,” he said finally, his voice strained. “I just need to get this done.”
Verse:2
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing back the tears that threatened to spill over. The memories flooded her mind—laughter shared over takeout dinners, lazy Sunday mornings wrapped in each other’s arms, the way he would look at her as if she were the only person in the room. All of it felt like a distant dream, slipping through her fingers like sand.
Interlude:2
“Is it because of me?” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “Did I do something wrong?”
Act:3
“No,” he replied, though his tone was distant, his focus elsewhere. “It’s not you. It’s just… I need to find myself.”
Act:4
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. She wanted to scream, to shake him and demand that he stay, but all she could do was sit there, paralyzed by the impending loss. The truth was, she had seen the signs—the late nights, the quiet conversations that felt more like goodbyes than discussions about their future.
#5
“Do you remember the day we moved in here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You said this was our little haven.”
#6
He paused, the suitcase half-closed, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. “I remember,” he said slowly, as if each word was a weight he had to carry. “But sometimes, even havens can feel like cages.”
#7
The finality of his words struck her like a physical blow. She had always thought love could conquer all, but now she realized that it could also fracture, bend, and break. She stood up, her legs trembling, and walked to him, desperation coursing through her veins.
End
“Please, don’t go,” she pleaded, reaching for his hand. “We can figure this out. We can try again.”
He pulled away gently, and the distance between them felt insurmountable. “I have to do this, Sarah. For me. I hope you can understand.”
And just like that, he was gone. The door closed softly behind him, leaving
