The Last Echo

I was meant for this. I swore I was meant for this. Felt it in the marrow of my bones, in the pull of every breath, in the way my hands trembled not from fear, but from longing. But longing is not enough. Wanting is not enough. I have given everything— my days, my nights, my ribs cracked open to make room for something greater. And still, it slips through my fingers, a bird with broken wings dragging itself into the dark. I try to call it back, but my voice does not carry the way it used to. My feet do not land as surely as they once did. The hands that were steady now shake, uncertain, unwelcome. And God, the silence— how it stretches, how it mocks. How it wraps itself around me, a thing I cannot fight, cannot bargain with. This was supposed to be mine. I was supposed to be good enough. But now, I am just a shadow watching the thing I loved turn its back on me.