LITERARY l When The Sun Stops Shining

You never said goodbye, you  just stopped arriving and  in the silence that followed, I fell apart. But breaking isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of becoming something sharper. 

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I didn’t notice the shift at first. 

It was still July — the air heavy with heat, your smile still golden, your hand still in mine. But something had already started to slip, the kind of silence that doesn’t come all at once, but settles in like dust, after the fireworks fade. You slipped away like heat from skin — not sudden, not cruel. Just slow and quiet.. 

You were a season. Wild. Warm. Temporary. And I — I was the fool who built a home out of sunlight, thinking it would never set. I kept holding on, long after you had begun to fade. The trees around us began to change, the wind carried a chill, and still, I waited for one more golden hour. One more day when you would look up at me the way you did in the beginning — like I was your sun. 

But  I was never your sun. I was just your shade, your pause, your in-between. You were simply passing through, and  the leaves warned me, the wind whispered truths. But I stayed, clinging to the light that is still peeking yet sooner or later will leave. 

You never said goodbye, you  just stopped arriving and  in the silence that followed, I fell apart. But breaking isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of becoming something sharper. 

I stopped waiting, stopped aching, stropped shrinking myself for someone who couldn’t stay. 

Because I realized —I am not made of borrowed time nor I am not the pause between seasons. 

And even if the sun stops shining, the wind will carry me. Because I no longer chase the season, 

I become the next.