The graveyard was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the cool breeze.

Moonlight bathed the headstones in a ghostly glow, casting long, eerie shadows across the ground.

It was a place of mourning, a place of reflection, and, for me, a place of solace. I wandered between the rows, my mind a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions, the weight of my darkness pressing heavily upon me.

As I walked, I spotted a figure in the distance, sitting on the grass in front of the angelic headstone. Her silhouette was familiar, and as I approached, I knew it was Seren.

She was hunched over, her dark curls falling like a curtain around her face. She wore a dark, larger than needed, hoodie over a small white skirt that was stained with green juices from the wet grass.

"Hey," I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, her eyes bleary and bloodshot. The smell of alcohol hung around her, sharp and bitter.

"Hey," she replied, her voice thick and slurred.

I settled down beside her, the damp grass cool beneath me. For a moment, we sat in silence, the shared quiet a comfort in itself. The headstone before us bore the name of her mother, a constant reminder of the pain she carried.

"I come here a lot," Seren mumbled, her words almost incoherent. It was as if she was answering a question that I hadn't asked, yet she knew I was wondering. "It's the only place I feel close to her."

I nodded, understanding, yet knowing my own reasons for being here couldn't be any more different. "I get it. Sometimes the only place that feels real is somewhere like this."

She turned to look at me, her eyes unfocused. "Why are you here tonight?"

I sighed, running a hand over the dark hoodie that was covering my hair. "Just needed to get away. Clear my head."

"Rough day?" she asked, her tone detached, as if she was barely present.

"Rough life," I replied with a bitter chuckle. "But yeah, today was especially bad. I was thinking about... everything."

Seren took a swig from a nearly empty bottle, her gaze distant. "Everything sucks," she muttered.

We fell into another silence, the air between us heavy, yet paralyzing comfortable. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened in my mind since the last time I saw her, but the words felt trapped, locked away by fear and, perhaps a knowing that speaking my plans made them more plans than just morbid make belief.

"There's someone," I began hesitantly and out of nowhere, "someone who's always been there for me. My best friend."

Seren turned to me, her eyes glazed over. "Yeah? So what?"

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "He's... well, he's everything I'm not. Strong, confident, always seems to have it together. He's the kind of person everyone looks up to, you know?"

She nodded absently, her attention drifting back to the bottle in her hand. I could tell that she was further lost in her own thoughts than in my words.

"We've known each other since we were kids," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. "He's always been there, through everything. Every fight, every rough patch, every moment of doubt."

Seren glanced at me, her expression vacant. "Sounds nice," she mumbled.

"He is," I agreed. "But sometimes... sometimes it's hard. He doesn't really understand what it's like. The darkness, the weight. He tries, he really does, but it's like there's this gap between us that he can't bridge. And I don't want him to. But he will never stop trying."

She took another swig, not really looking at me. "People don't get it. They never do."

"Exactly," I said, feeling a surge of relief at her words. "He's always asking if I'm okay, always trying to make me talk, but I just can't. I don't want to burden him with my problems, you know?"

Seren shrugged, her movements sluggish. "Yeah. I guess. No one really asks me anything."

"Yeah," I whispered. "He's this bright, shining light, and I'm just... not. I feel like I'm dragging him down, and I hate it. But at the same time, I don't know what I'd do without him."

Her grip on the bottle tightened, her presence a small comfort despite her detachment. "It's hard to let people in when you're afraid they won't get it. Or worse, that they'll see you differently."

"Yeah," I said, my voice tinged with sadness. "Sometimes I think it would be better if I just... let go. For his sake."

She shook her head slightly, her grip on the bottle firm. "Don't say that. He cares about you, and losing you would hurt him more than anything. Trust me, I know what it's like to lose someone you love. It never heals. And 13 years later you're drunk in the middle of the night in a graveyard."

Her words hit me hard, a reminder of the pain she carried, the loss she endured. I looked into her eyes, seeing the depth of her grief, and felt a pang of guilt for even considering leaving Zane behind.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice came out low. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," she interrupted, her voice soft but still slurred. "I just don't want you to give up. He wouldn't want that, and neither do I."

I nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. "It's just... sometimes it feels like there's no way out. Like the darkness is all there is."

"I know," she said, her voice a gentle tumble. "But there's always a way out, even if it doesn't feel like it. Sometimes you just need to hold on a little longer, find something—anything—to keep you going."

Her words hung in the air, but I felt no hope, no flicker of light. I had made up my mind staring into the stars last night.

The darkness was my companion, my destination. I had already planned my escape, my final goodbye. This conversation was just a brief respite, a moment of connection before the end.

"I used to have friends," Seren muttered, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "But they aren't real friends. I don't think they're real friends. They just wanted to be seen with me, to use me for my looks. No one really cares about me. Except maybe, maybe just one. He's nice to me."

Her words hit me hard, we were so different, but she still reminded me of my own feelings of isolation.

"I get that," I said softly. "I've had people in my life who only cared about what they could get from me, not about who I am."

Seren took another swig, the bottle was practically empty. "It's lonely, you know? Being surrounded by people who don't really see you."

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice heavy with understanding. "It's like you're invisible, even when you're right in front of them."

We sat in silence for a while, the silence becoming a song that we both played around each other. But in that musical silence, there was also a sense of life, and I pondered on that feeling — that the sound of nothing reminded me more of life than laughter, or the sun on my skin.

"Thank you," I said, louder than I usually spoke in this graveyard. "For listening."

"I don't know if you should be thanking me," she replied, her eyes filled with that song of silence playing between us. "You're holding on, right?"

"Right," I agreed, a weak smile tugging at my lips. But even as I smiled, I knew it was hollow.

I had already decided. This darkness, this endless weight—it was too much to bear. Seren's words, her presence, couldn't change that.

And, that wasn't her fault. There was nothing she could have said to keep me here. There was nothing she could have done. It was like doing chest compressions on someone who no longer had a heart.

Eventually, Seren stood, brushing the grass from her clothes. "I should go," she said, her voice dull and distant. "But if you ever need to hear your thoughts out loud, you know where to find me."

I nodded, standing as well. "Thank you, Seren. Really."

She gave me a small, sad smile. "Try, Alex. Try to find something."

As she walked away, I felt a strange mix of emotions—sadness, relief, finality.

Seren's words lingered in my mind, but they were just echoes in the void. My path was set, my decision made.

I turned back to the headstone, my heart heavy, my mind clearer than it had been in a long time.

The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, but it was a darkness I had embraced. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, only the promise of an end to the pain.

And that comforted me.

The graveyard was silent once more, the moonlight casting its ethereal glow over the stones.

I took a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill my lungs, and made my way out of the graveyard, the weight of my darkness a familiar companion with each step.

I felt at peace. Not because of hope, but because I had finally accepted the inevitable.