The dim sunlight seeps through the shattered window and eerily coats the room I used to call home. Over the years, this barely standing apartment has become a part of me. Its moldy walls were there for me to lean against when I couldn’t take the stress anymore and would collapse beside them into a ball of anguish. The couch always provided a sanctuary for whatever I was going through. It was there for me when I laid numb with tears rolling down my damp cheeks and was still there when Nolyah and I would hold each other close, feeing as though us and this couch were the only things that existed in this world. This apartment wasn’t just a safe place I could hide from the enemies that were hunting me down, it was a home. My home.

That was before everything changed. Before Nolyah died. Before I decided to stop being a hero forever. Before I lost everything I had ever lived for. Before I decided there was no point living.

This apartment was too painful to live in. A constant reminder of all the memories laced in agony and all the memories I will never have the chance to make. I thought by leaving I would finally have a chance at peace. An opportunity to start over. But pretending my life here didn’t exist didn’t make it go away.

I was gone for a year and not once did my mind escape the thought of Nolyah. Not once did my eyes not see her lifeless face. My ears not hear her soft and soothing voice. My hands not feel the sensation of her smooth skin. My nose not smell her rose and lavender scent.

Because no matter how far I ran away, it was never far enough to escape the thought of her.