Layout by: Erelah Janika Geniza
Published by: Francen Anne Perez
Date Published: October 10, 2025
Time Published: 3:13 PM
Category: Prose
Theme: The fantasy of escape when you’re stuck between heartbreak and healing.
It’s been months since the break-up. We’ve been together for four years, and in a heartbeat, all of it was gone. I stand in my room; bag half-zipped, clothes scattered on the floor, bedsheets messy, leftover pizza on the table—while the question of what went wrong loops endlessly in my head. I didn’t plan to leave. I didn’t even pack properly—just threw some clothes in a bag, a notebook, some cash, grabbed my headphones, and left. The moment I stepped outside, the air felt wrong; it was thick like it knew something I didn’t. I walked to the station heedlessly, letting the streets take me. I wasn’t running away, not really. I just needed not to be here anymore. To leave him behind. So I bought a one-way ticket to Edinburgh. It sounded far enough.
The fact that he was everywhere was driving me insane. In the way people smiled at me, in the beat of a song I hated until he sang it with his voice. There were times I’d catch a scent—sweet and sharp—that felt like I was falling. The train station was the worst. Crowded and loud, full of people I could mistake for him if I wasn’t careful enough. One guy had his laugh. Another had the same scarf. My heart kept getting tricked. I almost couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired of crying for him in silence, tired of pretending I was fine when I was still stuck in goodbye.
The train hummed, like a lullaby. Windows blurred with rain. I stared outside, imagining cities I’d never been to, lives I hadn’t ruined yet. Well, Edinburg didn’t matter—it wasn’t the place I wanted, just the thought of it. A place where he hadn’t kissed me in the snow. Where I hadn’t memorized his breathing, where I hadn’t shared a bed with him, hadn’t cried in his chest, hadn’t made promises we didn’t keep. A place where he didn’t exist...
I told myself, “I’m gonna start over there.”
That maybe, if I crossed enough miles, if the train never stopped, I’d leave the sadness behind, too. Maybe, I’d arrive somewhere untouched by memories. Somewhere, I could finally breathe without thinking of him.
At each station we passed, it felt like shedding a layer of skin. Halfway through the ride, a man sat across from me wearing his perfume. As I grasped a scent of the perfume, my throat tightened and my eyes widened. For a second, I almost reached his hand. But I didn’t. I just sat there. I breathed. The ache came like a wave—but softer this time, not enough to drown me. I looked away, out at the wet trees blurring by, and I didn't cry. It felt like something. It felt new.
And maybe that was okay. Healing didn’t have to be clean. It just had to be kept moving. Looking at it now, I don't know if I’ll stay in Edinburgh. Maybe I’ll just keep riding, keep chasing places he hasn’t touched. While the train was moving forward, so did something in me. I wasn’t healed, not yet. But I had finally stopped looking back at the platform. For the first time, it felt like I had a way forward.
And for now, that was enough.
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