I always thought love was the most beautiful thing ever. Not even in my darkest dream did I imagine that loving unconditionally would land me here. I feel suffocated. I can feel the world around me collapse. I can feel every part of my body shiver. I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped, not by these walls, but by my own thoughts. Every time I close my eyes, I see them. I see the moments I gave too much, loved too hard, and how that love backfired, turned against me like a weapon.

It’s been months since the world outside disappeared, swallowed by the cold concrete of this cell. Time doesn’t flow here, it drags, stretching each moment like a rubber band about to snap. I used to count the days, scratch marks into the wall, but now I’ve stopped. What’s the point? Time won’t fix anything. It won’t undo what I did. It won’t make this loneliness any less unbearable.

The worst part of this prison isn’t the silence or the cold walls. It’s the way my mind plays tricks on me, making me relive everything. Every mistake, every word spoken in desperation, every piece of my heart I gave away too easily. They say you go to prison for crimes, but my crime was love. Loving so fiercely, so completely, that it became my downfall. I didn’t break laws. I broke myself.

The memories are like ghosts, haunting me, refusing to let me rest. I see their face. God, I see their face everywhere. The way they smiled when they were happy, the way their eyes softened when I told them how much they meant to me. I poured everything I had into them, every ounce of my being, until there was nothing left for me. I thought that’s what love was supposed to be selfless, all-consuming. But now, I see it wasn’t love. It was obsession, it was desperation. I loved too hard, and in the end, I broke. And when I shattered, they walked away, leaving me here to pick up the pieces.

But how do you pick up the pieces when you’re locked in a cage of your own making? Every thought feels like a prison sentence. I can't escape the "what ifs." What if I had pulled back? What if I had loved less, or smarter, or just differently? But then, I don’t know how to love in halves. It’s all or nothing with me. And now, I’m paying the price for that.

My heart feels heavy, I scream inside, but no one hears me. Maybe it’s because I don’t deserve to be heard. Maybe I was too much. Too intense, too emotional, too everything. I loved in a way that suffocated, that consumed, and in the end, I was the one left gasping for air.

I wonder if they ever think about me. Do they remember the good times, the moments when it felt like we were the only two people in the world? Or do they only remember the way I smothered them, the way I clung too tightly? I can’t stop asking myself if I pushed them away, if I was the architect of my own loneliness.

The silence is deafening. It echoes in my mind, amplifying the loneliness, reminding me that this is my fault. I loved too much, and now I’m alone with nothing but my thoughts to torment me. I’m in a prison, but the bars aren’t made of steel, they’re made of regret, of all the love I gave away that was never returned.

I don’t know how to stop loving. Even now, locked away, I still love them. I still ache for them. But I know now that love like mine is dangerous. It’s a wildfire, and when it burns out, all that’s left is ash.