Silent Symphony of Sorrow

***  

 The house remained desolate since he left, so suddenly... The sky seemed grayer, and the wounds, though trying to heal, no longer had enough strength... The wounds deepened with each passing minute, each second... and she was alone...

The bed, in which she sank deeper and deeper, appeared like a coffin where each memory seemed buried in the folds of the sheet... Every tear was instantly absorbed by the pillows that lay disordered, thrown around... as if no one had cared for them... just as he had not cared for her. Now, breathing in the bitterness of time, her brown eyes could see nothing but the moments when he made her laugh uncontrollably, and she would often nudge him... and he, in his happiness, would gently kiss her forehead... But those forehead kisses were forgotten the moment he, the wonderful he, chose to leave... and she remained alone... Now she laughs bitterly, appearing happy in another's unhappiness... rather, laughing at her own misery without knowing that he too is just as unhappy with his choice.

    As the days passed, she felt nothing and no moment mattered anymore because longing had taken over her being... once every moment mattered and they longed for each other every second even when they were together... now only the aching longing remained, the longing that gnawed at her piece by piece... the longing that was stronger than any other feeling...

    Sick with love, she hurriedly crawled to the kitchen in the hope of finding something that would bring even a second of hope... and her eyes were filled with the pearls of lost time... the green turned a bloody red for no more were tears flowing but droplets of blood, torn from the veins of her trembling hands.

In the kitchen, with trembling hands and a lost gaze, she swept her red, swollen eyes over the disordered shelves. Each object seemed to remind her of his absence, of the void left by his sudden departure. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing brought solace. Her blurred vision stopped on a jar of strawberry jam, labeled in his handwriting, a memory of a happier summer. She opened the jar, and the aroma of fresh strawberries and sugar enveloped her. Each inhalation of the strawberry scent was a direct blow to her heart, reminding her of all that was lost.

    The jam, once a symbol of their shared happiness, had now become a silent witness to their separation. Each strawberry in the jar seemed to scream about unkept promises, about unmade plans, about the love that had crumbled.

She opened the refrigerator, but the cold, white light revealed nothing but empty shelves and forgotten containers. It was as if the house itself breathed the same despair, the same abandonment. She didn't even feel hunger or thirst. It was just a dull, constant pain that spread throughout her body.

    She turned back to the kitchen table, where they once laughed together, where future plans seemed so certain and happy. Now, all that remained were memories, which rather tore her apart than comforted her.

    At one point, her eyes fell on a kitchen knife, carelessly left on the countertop. She imagined how simple it would be to let all this pain drain away. But even in this dark thought, something deep inside her opposed it, a weak thread of will that still clung to life.

    She let herself fall onto the cold kitchen floor, her head resting against the cold cupboards. Tears flowed incessantly, forming small pools on the tiled floor. With each sob, each sigh, she felt the pain deepen, the despair engulf her more and more. There was no escape, no refuge. She was alone, lost in her own universe of suffering.

In this state of total abandonment, time seemed to have stopped. There were no more days, no more hours. There was only pain, sadness, and the memory of a lost love. Nothing in the kitchen brought consolation, there was no cure for her shattered soul.

    Memories began to unfold like pages of a book she never wished to read again. There was the time when they first met, under the golden hues of an autumn sun. He had appeared like a sudden ray of light in her otherwise mundane world. His laughter was a melody that lifted her spirits, and his eyes held promises of a love so deep, so profound. She remembered their first walk in the park, the leaves crunching under their feet, their breaths visible in the crisp air, as they talked about everything and nothing.

    Their love story was like a whirlwind, intense and all-consuming. They moved in together in this very house, filling it with laughter, dreams, and plans for the future. He brought life into her world, and she, in turn, gave him her heart, unconditionally.

    But as the seasons changed, so did the color of their love. The warmth turned to cold, the laughter to silence. Arguments replaced the conversations, and the distance grew where closeness once resided. She tried to bridge the gap, to return to those golden days of autumn, but the more she tried, the more he pulled away.

    Now, the house felt more like a prison than a home. The walls, once witnesses to their love, now echoed with the remnants of their broken promises. The photographs that lined the shelves, once a gallery of their happiness, now seemed like taunting ghosts of a past too painful to remember.

    She remembered the last evening they spent together. A simple dinner, both avoiding each other's gaze, the air heavy with unspoken words. Later, he announced he was leaving, his voice devoid of emotion, his eyes, once so full of love for her, now cold and distant.

    The shock was immediate, the pain, indescribable. She begged, she cried, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He left with a suitcase, taking her heart along with him. The door closing behind him sounded like the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

Since then, she had been living in a state of limbo, unable to move forward, unwilling to let go. The kitchen, once their favorite place to cook and chat, now felt alien to her. The garden, where they planted roses and dreamed of growing old together, now lay neglected, the roses wilting, much like her heart.

    In her solitude, she often wandered through the house, touching objects he had touched, sitting in chairs where he once sat, hoping to feel some remnants of his presence, a connection to what they once had. But all she found was emptiness, a void that seemed to grow with each passing day.

    Nights were the hardest, the silence deafening, the loneliness a constant companion. She would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the shadows playing tricks on her mind. Sometimes, she thought she heard his footsteps, his voice calling out to her, but it was just the wind, a cruel reminder of her solitude.

    As the rain lashed against the windows that evening, she realized that she was living in a world devoid of color, of hope. The once vibrant shades of her life had faded into monochrome. She was a ghost in her own home, haunted by the memories of a love that was no more.

    With a heavy heart, she stood up from the cold kitchen floor, her body numb, her soul exhausted. She looked around the kitchen one last time, the jar of strawberry jam still open on the counter, the knife lying innocently beside it. With a deep breath, she decided it was time to leave, to step outside, to face the world again, even if every step took every ounce of strength she had left.

    She closed the door behind her, stepping into the cold, rain-soaked night. The house, once a sanctuary of love, now stood silent and empty, a testament to a love lost, a dream shattered.

***

All that remains behind is the jar of jam...