Fragile Longing Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Do you truly believe these fragile voices can carry beyond these mountains? Eris’s grip is strong.” “Fragile is stronger than we know,” Sophia replied. “Glass can cut, embers can ignite. They will carry hope if we give them reason to hold it.” Elise appeared, threads of her loom tucked under her arm. “The weave can extend outward,” she said. “But only if we thread it carefully. Too fast, and the currents fracture. Too slow, and the outside world drowns us in Eris’s lies.” Sophia nodded. “Then we thread with intention. Let our chorus grow, not crumble.”

but if I had, why did I always end up here all alone? I groan and get up am feeling feverish, and I need to cool down. I walk to the tiny sink and switch on the light; there is a tiny mirror, and I stare at my reflection. The person staring back at me is a stranger I can barely recognize. I feel so much longing, a longing so deep it’s almost a physical, tangible thing; I want so much and feel too much. I pick the water glass by the sink and pour myself some water from the tap and take a sip. I feel so frustrated and in so much pain. I just want to end it; I want it to stop, so I can rest and stop feeling rejected like I don’t belong anywhere. I throw the glass into the mirror, and it shatter

I feel it. The hours are too long. The night is too long. The fear of it is loud, louder than my resolve, louder than the wolf, louder than me. My breath is fragile, fragile like the confidence I pretend to have, fragile like the control I want to keep, fragile like the solitude, like the solitude that I don’t want, that I don’t want. My breath is fragile and soft and quick and loud. It fills the space, fills it like the old words, fills it like the night.

Or maybe to myself, for still believing against all reason that things could ever stay quiet for long. A tear slipped free, tracking down my cheek. I wiped it away with the heel of my hand, angry at myself for breaking so easily. I’d survived too much to fall apart every time the ground shifted under my feet. But that was the thing about hope it was fragile. And every time it cracked, I felt all the old fissures inside me threaten to split wide open again. I pushed up from the bed and began to pace. The baby shifted again, as if they could sense my restlessness..

It was a dance of vulnerability, each step bringing us closer to healing or pushing us further apart. Through tear-stained eyes and quivering voices, we dug deep into the depths of our souls. We bared our scars, exposed the wounds that had yet to fully heal. It was a painful process, but it was necessary for our growth, both individually and as a couple. Slowly, as the days passed, the wounds began to mend. We found solace in each other's arms, in the whispered promises of love and forgiveness. It was a delicate dance, one that required patience, understanding, and an unwavering belief in the power of second chances.

The mixed signals nearly shattered me, each one a reminder that I was nothing to him. I couldn’t bear the weight of it all. My mind spiraled into despair, and I felt the urge to escape—anything to forget I ever loved him. Storming to the fridge, I seized the whiskey bottle, downing its contents in one reckless gulp. Maybe numbness was the only answer. **Morning**

You ran through the rain all over the city to buy me soup…" That night, rain had poured relentlessly. He searched for five hours. When he finally returned, drenched from head to toe, he still handed over the warm bag without complaint. "And last year, on my birthday, I casually mentioned wanting a necklace that wasn’t even for sale. You went and entered a life-or-death street race for it. "There was that briar rose from the dangerous Moonwatch Cliff. You didn’t even care about your life just to pick it for me." "So…" Vera looked at him expectantly. "Why are you so good to me?"

"To my dear princess, I want you to know that I love you, ALL OF YOU, and I always will. I am committed to our you until death does us part. At times, in moments of deep frustration, I may have questioned otherwise, but that was my immature way of seeking love from you when I should have been looking for you to fill the void in my temporarily wandering heart. Beloved, I know I have hurt you countless times with my words and actions, and for all of them, I sincerely and humbly ask for your forgiveness. Since my heart was made to fit with your, I long for you even when my heart is broken, even when I feel so hurt by your actions or lack thereof that my heart feels frozen, I still long for you.

Running from the center of my sternum across the frozen air toward him, toward the Crown Prince on his black horse, and from him back to me, a connection so delicate it looked like breathing wrong would break it. And through the threads — not words, not an image, not anything I had language for at seven years old: Longing. Someone's longing. I couldn't tell whose. Only that it existed, that it was enormous, and that it was the saddest thing I had ever felt. Then it was gone. The Crown Prince's gaze moved on. The procession continued. The village exhaled collectively. Somewhere behind me, a child started crying for unrelated reasons and was immediately shushed.

I may never be able to do that anymore, I may never see him, or talk to him, or hear his voice or- There’s this longing that comes with the absence of someone you fell deeply in love with. Knowing that you might never have them in your life increases the need to be with them, to the point where it chokes the life out of you. I’m not sure at what point I laid down but the floor cools my cheeks, my tears spilling over. If I lie here long enough I might become one with the broken glass and disappear. The door opens with a creak but I don’t turn to see who it is. I’m way past the point of caring. I get up anyway and start to pick the glass off the floor, my mind barely registering what I’m doing