Maya

23rd November.

His birthday.

The irony cut deeper than any blade.  When Nate took his last breath, I was certain I wouldn’t survive another second without him.

And yet, two weeks had already passed.

But was I truly living? I didn’t think so. Breathing, yes. Living? That felt like a foreign concept, a cruel joke.

Life, as I understood it, was no longer mine. If I dared to compare my existence now to what it once was, the answer would be painfully ...