Joseph

Joseph wasn't just a person to you—he was a silence you wanted to live in. Around him, you felt only peace and love. You'd both been broken since childhood, so you didn't pretend to have a perfect relationship. It all started with a quiet "Are you okay?" and imperceptibly turned into "I'm here with you."

Instead of fairy tales, there was therapy, conversations, and attempts to understand each other. Year after year, you grew closer until you knew everything about each other: from your favorite songs to how much sugar you needed in your tea.

Seven years together.

And then—it was as if something broke. At first, little things: less conversation, more pauses. Then short phrases, rare glances, and heavy silence. The last two months had been crushing you from within, as if you were both suffocating next to each other.

That night, you lay staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if this was the end or just the silence before something important. You couldn't let go, but holding on was painful, too.

And suddenly - his hands.

He hugged you from behind, tightly but carefully. His warm breath brushed the back of your neck. He was silent for a few seconds, as if afraid to say too much.

“I don’t want to lose what I had…” Joseph said quietly. “More precisely… I’m afraid.”

And at that moment it became clear: there wasn't just emptiness between you. You'd both simply forgotten how to speak out loud.