No Warning

“No Warning” He left. No fight. No warning. Just vanished like love was a switch he got bored of leaving on. And I stood there mid-sentence, mid-heartbeat, mid-trust watching everything I believed in turn to static. It wasn’t just the leaving. It was the silence. The nothing. The way he made it feel like I wasn’t even worth a goodbye. That was the last straw. Not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, just the thing that tipped the weight I’d been carrying like a secret. Now I sleep like I’m drowning. Wake up already exhausted. Smile like I’m not unraveling underneath my hoodie and headphones and all these layers I wear so no one sees me breaking. I say “I’m fine” with the same mouth I used to say “I love you.” But now both feel like lies. I don’t trust people. Not after that. Not after giving someone my heart only to watch them drop it like an afterthought. I don’t open up. I shut down. I make jokes. I say “lol” while thinking about how loud the quiet has gotten. I cancel plans. I flake. I drift. Because I don’t have the energy to pretend I care when I barely remember how it feels to feel at all. This isn’t a phase. It’s not edgy. It’s not rebellion. It’s depression with glitter on top so no one calls it what it is. I’m in my “don’t expect anything from me” era. The one where I ghost myself before you can. The one where love feels like a trap, and safety is a lie I don’t buy anymore. He left with no warning. But the fallout? The aftershocks? That’s the part I’m still cleaning up in silence.