But how long can someone survive like this?
Breathing, but never really alive.
Smiling, but only for survival.
Existing, not living.
"Forever?"
She asked herself in the stillness of another sleepless night.
The silence didn't answer.
It never did.
She was tired.
Not just the kind of tired that sleep could fix—
but the kind that buries itself in your bones,
the kind that makes you feel like the world is moving
and you're stuck behind glass, watching.
So, one day—quietly, without a goodbye—she left.
No note.
No message.
No tears.
She went far.
Far enough that if she disappeared, no one would know where to look.
Because she didn't want to be found.
She chose a place where the sky felt endless,
where the wind didn't carry names,
and the roads had no memories.
A place where she thought she could simply… vanish.
Not out of hate.
But out of heartbreak.
Because somewhere deep inside,
a thought kept echoing like a curse:
"What if they're glad I'm gone?"
What if her family smiled again?
What if her friends finally felt free?
What if they whispered,
"The curse is gone."
and moved on as if she never existed?
What if no one cried?
What if no one missed her?
What if no one remembered that once, she laughed like sunlight
and loved like fire?
The thought wasn't just painful.
It was shattering.
Because the worst kind of death
is not when your heart stops beating—
it's when the world forgets
you ever had one.