It Wasn't Supposed to Be That Way

It wasn't supposed to be that way.

The house was supposed to stay warm,

not become a museum of silence.

The laughter was supposed to linger

in the hallways and corners,

not vanish like a ghost

that nobody speaks about anymore.

It wasn't supposed to be that way.

We were supposed to grow old with our dreams,

not bury them one by one

beneath disappointments and regrets.

The promises were supposed to survive the storms.

The love was supposed to stay.

The light was supposed to win.

Instead, darkness learned my name.

It followed me home.

Sat beside me at dinner.

Slept at the foot of my bed.

Waited patiently in mirrors

for me to notice what I was becoming.

A stranger.

It wasn't supposed to be that way.

I wasn't supposed to carry this much grief

inside a single heart.

Wasn't supposed to learn

how heavy memories could become

when they are all that remains

of something beautiful.

Some nights I still revisit the ruins.

The conversations unfinished.

The apologies never spoken.

The doors that closed forever.

I walk through them in my mind

like an abandoned city,

touching fragments of a life

that no longer exists.

And every memory whispers

the same cruel sentence:

"It wasn't supposed to be that way."

But life rarely asks permission

before rewriting the story.

It tears pages.

Changes endings.

Steals people.

Breaks plans.

And leaves us standing in the ashes,

trying to understand

how something once filled with hope

became a place of mourning.

Still, beneath the sorrow,

beneath the wreckage,

beneath the endless ache,

a small part of me remains.

A flicker.

A fragile light stubbornly surviving

among the ruins.

Because even though

it wasn't supposed to be that way,

the story is not finished yet.