At night, her absence hollowed the air. He didn't sleeponly stared at the ceiling, hearing her voice in memories that refused to fade. Sometimes, he walked back to the same street where she said his name, just in case the wind brought her again.
He wasn't angry. Just tired. He no longer asked for reunion, only that he not forget her voicebecause forgetting would mean she was never real.
He didn't chase the world. He stood still, letting the sun set on what was never meant for him.
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