Quiet Despair

The light filtered through the curtains, casting long, wavering shadows that danced on the cold floor.

He sat there, the letter in his hand heavy with words unsaid, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders like the first winter frost.

The room, though warm, felt cold—empty, save for the lingering scent of smoke and regret. He didn’t read the words; he felt them, each line a stab, each pause a breath taken too late.

This wasn’t just a moment—it was a snapshot of a life unraveling, thread by thread, until all that was left was the raw, naked truth. And in that truth, there was something achingly beautiful. Because sometimes, it’s in the quietest corners of our lives where the loudest stories are told.