A happy ending. It suits him. I couldn't stay long enough to be one, so I'm glad he found another— someone like the ocean. Mysterious, open, beautiful. But like the ocean, you don’t see the monsters hiding in its depths. You know who the real villain is? You. The reader. You turned the page while I bled, while my world collapsed in ink and sorrow. You moved on, as if my pain was just another plot twist. I should have listened to myself. But once again, I tried. And I lost my humanity. Once, he helped me, cared for me, made me laugh. But today, I face a shadow with no face. And now, you'd think it ends— but not for me. I'm trapped in a loophole, pages turning, turning, waiting for this book to burn. All of this is an illusion. I am real. He was a whole book to me, but I was just a sentence to him. And life? Just a stage. You dance until you're tired. I never liked dancing. Never even tried. I painted his red flags green, but I'm running out of paint. I wrote a book about him, but never a single chapter about us. It’s incredible, knowing we exist at the same time. But it stings, knowing existing apart is better than existing together. Some people cross our paths like whispers in the wind— felt, but never held. You showed up, left a mark, and now I wonder… Was it meant to be? Or just another trick of the universe? Either way, the stars don’t pause. And neither do I. -