The first anniversary without her was like falling through ice—cold, dark, and endless. A felt the weight of everything he had lost and everything he had done to push her away. The dishonour, the stupid mistakes, the silence between the spaces where love used to live. He was drowning in a sea of regret but desperate not to sink completely.
So he sought escape. Not in meaning or connection, but in the chase—the hunt. Every girl, every moment was a game, a distraction from the emptiness that clawed at him from inside. Sex without feeling. Pleasure without love. Dominance without trust. It was hollow, but it was something.
He remembered one night, looking into the eyes of a woman who, like him, was broken. She was on her knees, silent but screaming in the way only pain can speak. Two lost souls meeting in the dark, searching for pieces they thought they’d never find again. But it was never the same. Nothing could replace her.
In his current life, the routine dragged him down. The woman beside him was there, but so distant—busy in her phone, lost in her own world. He felt trapped, not by her, but by the not knowing. Should he stay? Should he leave? The uncertainty was a cage tighter than any bars.
Memories haunted him—the silhouette of her standing by the radio, changing the music, with a subtle dance, tapping her feet to the rhythm, the echo of laughter that refused to fade. Those ghosts whispered in quiet moments, reminding him of a love that was real and fierce.
And yet, with every passing day, trust eroded. He saw the games he played with other women, how they broke down what little connection there was from the inside out. He knew, deep down, that everyone was replaceable—but no one ever replaced her.
The hunt continued, but the prey was gone.
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