The Sentinel X Ang Bantay

26/08/2026

30/07/2026

𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖱𝖸 | 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗣𝗦 𝗜 𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗, 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗜 𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗

“Oh, so you’re a consistent achiever? Your standards must be high. Even in love.”

I laughed, but it didn’t reach my eyes.
In school I’m the one who submits early, who answers first, who gets called to the stage while everyone claps. I know how to win. I know how to hold myself together. But with you, I fall apart. Last night you called at 11:47 PM. “Can we talk?” And I did what I always do. I begged. “Please don’t hang up,” I said the moment your voice got cold. “Please just listen to me. I’m not trying to fight. I just want us to be okay.” You said I was overreacting. You said I was making it a big deal. So I lowered my voice even more. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Please don’t leave me like this. Please.” I said please until the word felt empty in my mouth, but I kept saying it anyway because I was terrified that if I stopped, you would.

I told myself i was done. For three months I was good. I focused on school. I deleted our pictures. I stopped checking if you were online. I told myself I was healing. But one message from you and I was back in that same place, on my bed, holding my phone with both hands like it was the only thing keeping me from falling.

“Can we fix this?” I asked. “Can we please talk it out? I don’t want to lose you.” You sighed and said, “You always do this.” And I nodded even though you couldn’t see me. “I know. I’m sorry. Please just give me one more chance. Please.” The student who can argue in class, who can defend her thesis, who can say no to everything else, couldn’t say no to you.

When the call ended, the room went silent. My medals was on my desk from earlier that day. It was catching the light from the hallway. My phone was beside it, and your message from this morning was still on “seen.” I had asked, “Did I do something wrong?” You never replied. I looked at the clock. 11:59 PM. One minute before midnight. Outside, my room was quiet. No one was clapping. No one was telling me I did good. It was just me and the ache of knowing I can memorize 50 pages in a night, but I can’t memorize how to stop begging for someone who keeps walking away.

In that last minute, it hit me. I’m good at everything except this. I know how to get a perfect score. I know how to lead a group. But I don’t know how to stop saying “please” to the person who taught me that love means chasing. Tomorrow I’ll go to class. I’ll smile. I’ll get another high score. But tonight I’m still sitting on the floor, holding my phone, hoping you’ll text back. Hoping that if I beg hard enough, you’ll stay.

It’s insane to think that the same hands that get certificates on stage are the same hands shaking at 2AM, writing paragraphs I’ll never send to someone who left anyway.

“My hands hold trophies in light, but shake writing you goodnight”

𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗦𝗮𝗻 𝗝𝗼𝘀𝗲
𝗟𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻

25/07/2026

𝗢𝗡 𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗨𝗦 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗙𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗢𝗠 𝗗𝗔𝗬, we celebrate the heads held high, for every story told and every truth we try. With pride we carry this pen and this fight, because journalism is how we bring light. And as campus journalists, we are the voice that will always be there, with pride we write, truth will lead us, come what may.

Today, we celebrate with pride the courage of student journalists who write despite pressure, who publish despite fear, and who believe that silence is never an option.

In a time when information spreads fast and misinformation spreads faster, campus journalists stand as sentinels to guard.

“𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘀 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀, 𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗲. 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲, 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗿.”

𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 : Samantha San Jose
𝗟𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝘆 : Gabriel Babaran

25/07/2026

𝖡𝖠𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖠 | 𝗛𝗛𝗚𝗡𝗛𝗦, 𝗣𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗔𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 3𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥 𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗟𝗜 𝗔𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗖𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘆

Isang malaking karangalan ang inuwi ng Homobono H. Gonzalez National High School (Libmanan 4 District) matapos itong kilalanin at parangalan ng Sustainability Award sa ginanap na Awarding Ceremony para sa Project 3STAR at Healthy Learning Institutions (HLI) noong Hulyo 22, 2026 sa Robinsons Place Activity Center, Naga City.

Ang naturang parangal ay ibinigay sa ilalim ng temang "Project Sustaining, Strengthening, and Supporting Schools through Awards and Recognition (3STAR): Search for Outstanding WASH in Schools Implementers and Advocates, SY 2024-2025." Ang sertipiko ay pormal na nilagdaan ni Norma B. Samantela, CESO V, ang Schools Division Superintendent.

Ayon sa pamunuan ng paaralan, ang pagkakamit ng Sustainability Award ay bunga ng sama-samang pagsisikap, dedikasyon, at pakikiisa ng School Head, mga g**o, WinS (Wash in Schools) Officers, mga mag-aaral, mga magulang, at iba pang mahahalagang stakeholders. Ang kanilang pagtutulungan ang naging susi upang matiyak ang tuloy-tuloy na pagpapatupad ng mga positibong gawain sa paaralan.

Ipinapakita nito na hindi ito isang simpleng parangal lamang ito ay ang patunay na mayroong kahalagahan ang pagkakaroon ng matibay na sistema at aktibong partisipasyon ng bawat miyembro ng school community para sa isang magandang learning environment.

Ang parangal na ito ay nagsisilbing inspirasyon para sa buong komunidad ng naturang eskwelahan upang higit pang paigtingin ang mga hakbang tungo sa isang mas malinis, ligtas, malusog, at sustainable na paaralan para sa mga mag-aaral.

𝗜𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗶 : 𝗗𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗔𝗯𝗮𝗻̃𝗼
𝗞𝘂𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗴 : 𝗛𝗛𝗚𝗡𝗛𝗦

12/07/2026

𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗡, 𝗔𝗟𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧!

The Sentinel English broadcasting team finally joined the trend. Mic test, Mic test, delivering nothing but the truth. How would you tell yours? Through broadcast or writing? Come on and join in on the trend!

11/07/2026

𝖫𝖨𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖱𝖸 | 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗖𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗿𝘆

‎"One pack won't do, Two is too much."
‎
‎The sentence sits on the counter like advice and guidance at once.
‎
‎They kept a packet on the kitchen counter for luck — a bright wrapper, advertising cheer, a promise of something quick and warm.
‎
‎It was never about the noodles themselves; the packet was a marker, a small sign in the small argument of living together. Sometimes it sat upright like a forgotten ad for easy comfort.
‎
‎Sometimes it lay crumpled, emptied, a leftover.
‎
‎When one is not enough yet two is too much — he read the sentence once as if it were a weather forecast.
‎
‎At breakfast she laughed and said it sounded like a love proverb. He wanted to tell her that what sounded like wisdom felt like a hurt: a measure that always slid along the skin until it found the tender part.
‎
‎Love, they learned, kept a measure. It ticked in small counts — texts, cups of coffee, songs played at odd hours — and what filled the measure for a while eventually stopped.
‎
‎He believed generosity should be limitless; she believed in edges. Neither was entirely wrong. They were learning a language.
‎
‎But hunger is not generous.
‎
‎It learns the habits that calm it and then keeps asking. It asks for one more message, one more hour, one more promise. That extra becomes a habit that thinks it is entitlement. When you keep reaching, you begin to measure yourself by how much you take.
‎
‎The small safety of one becomes a lack — an account book where absence is a debt and presence is the only currency that pays it down.
‎
‎The contradiction sits between those states. It is the moment you realize that adding presence does not always mean adding care; sometimes you substitute presence for real closeness and confuse one for the other.
‎
‎You mistake quantity for devotion.
‎
‎The packet on the counter is still there, its bright claim clear and ironic. It is only a symbol — an everyday object that names the arithmetic of wanting.
‎
‎"Are you trying to fill something that cannot be filled by another person? Or have you crowded someone who only needed a smaller, steadier light?"
‎
‎The only skill is noticing. When the account book tilts, when attachments harden or dissolve, you look at that sentence and let it act like a signal.
‎
‎The packet still sits on the counter — but now it feels like an accusation. Its bright colors gleam at you like a witness. You say the line again and it sounds smaller, sadder: the kind of thing people say after they've been counted out.
‎
‎You try to make rules, to mark gentle borders, but rules can feel like bandages on a wound that keeps opening.
‎
‎You notice the ways you have starved and the ways you have stuffed someone else to ease your hunger.
‎
‎You see how leaving one light on became a habit of staying, and how staying became a slow erasure.
‎
‎There is a thin hour when both of you realize that the love you kept trying to math into safety has turned into a weight neither can carry.
‎
‎So the packet watches while you practice being kinder and meaner in turns.
‎
‎Sometimes you keep your promises; sometimes you break them to save yourself. Sometimes you wake up hungry and reach for the packet and remember it will not fill you.
‎
‎Sometimes you simply leave it there, a small, bright thing that will not forgive you.
‎
‎WHEN ONE IS NOT ENOUGH YET TWO IS TOO MUCH. Say it until it hurts. Let it be a map and a wound both.
‎
‎Then, if you can, learn to live with the not-fully-healed truth: some measures will always be wrong, and some loves will not bend.
‎
‎The packet remains on the counter — bright, patient, a little cruel — and you walk away knowing that reminders sometimes do nothing but mark where you began to lose each other.
‎

𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗫𝘆𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗔𝘃𝗮 𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗻̃𝗮
𝗟𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻

10/07/2026

𝗗𝗔𝗣𝗜𝗧 𝗗𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗠

Sa bayan ng Libmanan, isang hapon ang nagdaan

Dapit hapon hanggang gabi ay aming sinubaybayan

Bawat kuha’y padalos-dalos lang,

ngunit bawat isa’y alala na tatandaan

𝗜𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗶 : 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗦𝗮𝗻 𝗝𝗼𝘀𝗲
𝗞𝘂𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗮 : 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗠𝗮𝗴𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗼 𝗮𝘁 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻

08/07/2026

BALITA | 𝗛𝗛𝗚𝗡𝗛𝗦, 𝗻𝗮𝗴𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗮𝘄𝗮 𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗹𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗮𝗴𝘀𝘂𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗶 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝘀𝗮 𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗼 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴

Sa ikalawang pagkakataon, ipinamalas ng mga mag-aaral ng Homobono H. Gonzalez National High School ang kanilang galing sa pagbabalita sa isinagawang pagsusuri para sa radio broadcasting para sa mga nagnanais maging tagapagbalita at anchor noong Hulyo 8, 2026.

Labing-anim na estudyante mula sa iba’t ibang baitang ang lumahok sa pagsusuri. Layon nito na makapili ng mga mag-aaral na magiging bagong tinig ng paaralan sa paghahatid ng mga anunsyo at mahahalagang impormasyon.

Sa harap ng isa sa school paper adviser at ilan sa mga editorial staff, ipinakita ng mga kalahok ang kanilang tamang pagbigkas, linaw ng boses, at kumpiyansa sa pagbabalita.

Hindi naging madali para sa ilan ang humarap sa mga hurado.
"Kabado man pero kakayanin. Gusto ko pong matuto at magamit ang boses ko para makatulong sa paaralan," pahayag ng isa sa mga kalahok.

Samantala, maglalabas ang school publication ng opisyal na ranking ng labing-anim na mag-aaral na sumali sa screening. Layon ng ranking na kilalanin ang husay at galing na ipinamalas ng bawat kalahok batay sa kanilang ipinakitang kakayahan.

𝗜𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗶 : 𝗧𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗮 𝗠𝗮𝗲 𝗕𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘆
𝗞𝘂𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗶 : 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗡𝗶𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝘆

06/07/2026

𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗡 | 𝗦𝗮 𝗞𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗴 𝗕𝘂𝘄𝗮𝗻, 𝘀𝗮 𝗕𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝗞𝗶𝘁𝗮'𝘆 𝗛𝗮𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗽𝗶𝗻 𝗞𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗺𝗮𝗻

Noong unang panahon, sa isang bayang laging hinahaplos ng ulan at hangin mula sa dagat, may nakatayong matandang balete sa gitna ng kagubatan. Napakalawak ng mga ugat nito, parang mga kamay na mahigpit na yumayakap sa lupa. At sa tuwing sasapit ang gabi, ang mga anino nito’y tila mga bantay sa mga lihim ng daigdig.

Sinasabi ng mga matatanda na hindi ito pangkaraniwang puno. Sa ilalim daw nito nananahan ang mga alaala ng mga nagmamahalan.

At doon unang nagtagpo sina Abadap at Baná'ag.

Si Abadap, anak ng isang manghahabi. Mahinhin, ngunit ang mga mata’y tila laging may dalang liwanag ng buwan.
Si Baná'ag naman, mangingisdang kilala sa tapang at kabutihan ng loob.

Tuwing kabilugan ng buwan, palihim silang nagtatagpo sa ilalim ng balete.

“Dawa magkaigwa nin problema asin balakid, bagyo, o dawa anumang kalbaryo?,” bulong ni Baná'ag habang mahigpit ang hawak sa kamay ni Abadap, “mababalik ako digdi.”

Ngumiti si Abadap. "Dawa kagadanan pa an mag banta, pagkamoot ta dai matatapos.”

Bilang sumpaan, itinali nila ang isang pulang sinulid sa ugat ng balete.

Ngunit may nakarinig sa kanilang pangako.

Mula sa kalangitan, pinagmamasdan sila ni Sigwa. Ang diyosa ng unos at bagyo. Matagal na niyang iniibig si Baná'ag. Hindi siya sanay matalo. Hindi siya sanay mapagkaitan. At hindi niya matanggap na isang mortal lamang ang pinili nito sa halip na siya.

Kaya nang sumunod na kabilugan, habang naglalakad si Abadap papunta sa balete, biglang nagdilim ang langit.
Humagupit ang hangin. Umiyak ang dagat.
Ibinagsak ni Sigwa ang pinakamalakas na unos na naranasan ng bayan.

Nabasag ang mga bangka. Natumba ang mga bahay. At sa gitna ng bagyo, namatay si Abadap.
Natagpuan siya kinabukasan, yakap pa rin ang ugat na pinagtalian nila ng pulang sinulid.

Ngunit hindi doon nagtapos ang pag-ibig ni Baná'ag.

Tuwing sasapit ang bilog na buwan, bumabalik siya sa balete. May dala siyang munting lampara ng langis.

“Yaon ako igdi,” wika niya sa hangin. “Pirmi akong mabalik hanggat igwa ning banggi.”

Makalipas ang maraming buwan, muli siyang hinarap ni Sigwa. Bumaba ang diyosa mula sa ulap, ang buhok ay kaakibat ng hangin, ang mga mata’y kasing lamig ng bagyo.

“Baná'ag,” sabi niya. “Pabayaan mo na siya, gadan na an daragang namomotan mo.
Ako an diyosa nin langit asin dagat. Itatao ko saimo an gabos, kapangyarihan, imortalidad. Ako an pilion mo.”

Dahan-dahang umiling si Baná'ag. “An puso ko dai gamit na bagay para agawon mo, an daragang saimong ginadan ang namomootan ko.”

Nanginig ang kagubatan. Sa unang pagkakataon, nasaktan si Sigwa.

At dahil sa galit, muling pinakawalan niya ang bagyo. Mas mabangis. Mas mapanira.
Bumaha. Tinangay ang mga bahay. Nagsisigawan ang mga tao sa dilim.

Ngunit sa halip na magtago, kinuha ni Baná'ag ang kaniyang lampara at lumusong sa unos.

“Magsunod kamo sako!” kurahaw niya. “Igwa akong aram na ligtas na lugar.”

Kakaiba ang gabing iyon. Gaano man kalakas ang ulan, hindi namamatay ang apoy ng lampara.
Parang may ibang kamay na kumukupkop dito.

Dinala niya ang mga naligtas sa ilalim ng balete. At doon niya napansin, hindi dilaw ang liwanag. Maputlang bughaw ito.

At mula sa liwanag, may bumulong: “Baná'ag…”

Napaluhod siya.

Sa loob ng ilawan, nakita niya ang mukha ni Abadap.

Hindi pala siya nawala.
Ang kaluluwa ni Abadap ay nanatili sa lampara. Siya ang liwanag. Siya ang apoy. Siya ang gumagabay kay Baná'ag sa dilim.

Nakita iyon ni Sigwa. At doon niya naunawaan ang bagay na hindi kailanman kayang talunin ng bagyo, ang pag-ibig na nananatili kahit kamatayan na ang pagitan.

Ngunit huli na.

“Kung dai ka mapapasako,” sigaw ni Sigwa na nanginginig sa galit at luha, “mayo kang karapatan na maging tawo!”

Itinaas niya ang kamay. Sa isang kisap, naglaho ang anyo ni Baná'ag.
Naging manipis ang kaniyang balat, naging pakpak. Lumiit ang kaniyang katawan. At ang lampara ay naging bahagi na ng kaniyang dibdib.

Naging isang munting insektong kumikislap si Baná'ag.
Ang unang alitaptap.

Biglang tumahimik ang bagyo.

At doon lang natauhan si Sigwa. Nakita niyang kahit sinumpa niya si Baná'ag, ang liwanag nito’y hindi namatay. Lalo pa itong nagning sa gitna ng dilim.

“Anong ginawa ko…” bulong niya.

Ngunit wala na siyang magawa. Kaya tumalikod siya at bumalik sa kalangitan, dala ang kaniyang pagsisisi.

Mula noon, tuwing kabilugan ng buwan, may mga alitaptap na sumasayaw sa ilalim ng matatandang balete.
Ngunit may isa raw na naiiba. Mas maliwanag kaysa sa lahat.

At kapag ito’y iyong nakita, maririnig mo ang mahinang bulong ng hangin—

Isang binatang wagas magmahal, tapat, at dalisay ang puso na hindi matutumbasan ng kahit na sino man.

𝗜𝘀𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗮 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘁 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝗦𝗮𝗻 𝗝𝗼𝘀𝗲
𝗣𝗮𝗴-𝗮𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗼 𝗻𝗶 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻

06/07/2026

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬 | 𝗕𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝗟𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗪𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲

There are people who leave your life, and there are people who never entered it at all.

For years, they lived quietly inside the chambers of another's memory, occupying a space that no one else could touch. Their laughter echoed through familiar afternoons, their voice softened the silence of sleepless nights, and their eyes carried entire constellations that made the darkest hours bearable. Every conversation felt remembered rather than imagined, every promise as tangible as the warmth of a hand held beneath a sky heavy with stars. Loving them never felt like pretending. It felt like remembering.

There were ordinary moments that hurt the most. Waiting for them after long days. Smiling at messages that were never written. Replaying jokes that had never been spoken. They were stitched into every routine until life itself seemed to revolve around someone who had become as natural as breathing. If anyone had asked whether they were real, the answer would have arrived without hesitation. Of course they were. Love could never feel this true if it belonged to nothing.

Then came the morning that refused to lie.

No photographs carried their face. No messages remained in forgotten folders. No mutual friend recalled their name. Places they were certain they had visited together had never known two sets of footsteps. Every memory dissolved beneath the light of reality until only one impossible truth remained.

The person they mourned had never existed.

What followed was not heartbreak alone, but humiliation. How does one grieve a ghost born from their own longing? How does one explain tears for someone who never breathed, never laughed, never reached across the table to intertwine trembling fingers? The world offered no sympathy because there was no funeral for an illusion. No one sends flowers for a dream.

Still, the heart does not distinguish between flesh and fantasy. It only remembers the feeling of being loved, even if that love was written by the mind to rescue itself from unbearable loneliness. Every fabricated smile had comforted real pain. Every imagined embrace had soothed real fear. Though the person was unreal, the healing they once offered had been painfully, undeniably real.

Time eventually carried the illusion away, but it never erased the emptiness it left behind. Some evenings, when the air grows quiet enough to hear forgotten thoughts, they still find themselves searching unfamiliar faces, hoping reality has simply been mistaken all along. Hoping the impossible might step forward and say, "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

No one ever does.

Perhaps the cruelest thing about love is not losing someone.

Perhaps it is discovering that the greatest love of your life was never another person, but a beautiful lie your lonely heart created just to survive.

𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻
𝗟𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝘆 : 𝗚𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗕𝗮𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻