Andnce, I believe I found it. I looked at her and thought myself the luckiest woman alive. What we shared seemed rare, almost sacred — as if we had stumbled upon something that people spend a lifetime searching for.
I’m sure we found that in each other.
Perhaps my first mistake was putting him on a pedestal. From such a height, he could no longer see me as an equal. His pride swelled until he believed that my devotion was assured, that he could treat me as he pleased and still make me wait. And if I leave? Surely countless others would be interested in my place.
Seven months of silence passed. Seven months of no contact, no peeps on social media, no answers. I don’t know if the life he envisioned for himself ever happened.
What remains is an immense void.
Not the sharp pain of heartbreak, but a hollow ache. Longing for something I can no longer touch. I struggle to find myself calm. I struggle to find joy in ordinary days. Sometimes it seems as if color has been drained from the world, leaving everything muted and distant.
And yet, I still dream of that restless afternoon.
Wrapped safely in someone’s arms. A lingering kiss that asks nothing and promises everything. Feeling selected. cherished loved
I miss surrendering to something bigger than myself. to love myself That miraculous power is capable of transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary. What I once believed was freely given, only to learn how often it is conditioned, negotiated, earned and withheld.
That’s probably what I mourn the most.
not him
But women believe in magic. The woman who woke up every morning convinced that she was touched by something rare and beautiful. The woman who happily lost herself in the sweetness of everything.
To taste that honey one more time, knowing how quickly it dissipates on the lips.
I will never let myself believe it again.
