Lass mich los

She sits at the kitchen table, an open letter trembling in her hands. The ink is smudged

— maybe by rain. Maybe by tears. Outside, the night hums quietly. The streetlamp casts

its pale glow through the window. Anna (whispering): “I never wanted it to end like this…”

She reads again. Each word feels heavier, like a stone placed upon her chest.

"My dearest Anna…" — his first words, warm and full of hope. But somewhere down

the page, that warmth fades into distance. Anna (softly): “He said forever… and

forever ended.” A sigh escapes her lips — a mix of longing and sorrow. Anna: “I can still

hear your voice… in the silence.” Outside, the rain turns to mist.