Darling, I know how much it hurts watching him walk away.
I understand your confusion as he denies what you felt and diminishes the strength of the love.
As you curl on your side, I understand the physical ache that comes with a broken heart. The nausea as you replay endless reels of what went wrong. Imagining the women he is dating, trying to find where you lacked and why he ended up with another.
I know you are struggling to release the memories of a love so strong, of the endless nights you spent embraced in each other’s arms, unable to imagine an alternative. I know how hard you are battling to hold on to his ghost, to ensure the memories are never tarnished by his absence.
Your life has become an exercise in avoidance, dodging the restaurants where your most intimate conversations occurred, the bedsheets soaked with the perfume of love. Every moment you fight the urge to reach for him, to merge souls once more. The truth that you will never see him again is so unbearable, you must avoid it at all costs.
You seek out others, beautiful men with the same dark features you found in your lover. Every touch an inferior recreation of a love felt prior, each conversation falling flat on the trails of a love so pure. Every time you glance up, you see your lover’s eyes in passers-by, hoping that you will stumble upon each other once again.
For once you feel the futility of sex, the mechanical movements that are an insult to heartfelt lust. You realise that this love has crushed your ability to engage in meaningless sex, to participate in empty connections. They simply remind you of how strong the passion was with another, something that cannot be replaced with a half-assed copy.
As you attempt to find comfort with friends and family, the loneliness is exacerbated. Others query how a love so brief could affect you, that there are many other fish in the sea. They do not know how love can move you, transcend the parameters of time and crush your chest. You feel shame for having your heart wide open, for not knowing the love was too good to be true.
The hours drag on, as every second reminds you of the endless hours you spent together. Your social calendar now feels exhausting, as you paint on the mask of survivor and deny the extent of which your soul is crushed. You are in a twilight zone, your heart so crushed that you can no longer hear a word that another says. The meaning of your life feels as though it has vanished, whilst your passion has taken an early exit.
I can feel the pain of your soul splintering, the ways in which your sense of self was demolished. The illusion of love gently crushed, I feel your desire to give up, to never again fall and let down your defences. I see self-destruction seeping through your eyes, anger through your hands.
You are wearing the blame for a broken heart, one that you did not create to begin with. I see the gentle light of hope dimming, as the truth of his absence becomes permanent.
You desire to give up, but you must not. The depth of pain associated with your broken heart is a measure of your capacity to love. You with your heart and soul wide open have opened the gateway to true and lasting love. Perhaps this lover could not hold such a love, was unsure of how to keep it safe.
But you mustn’t alter your beautiful soul.
Allow this broken heart to tear through you, to open your soul for all the world to see. Your love can now run ever deeper than it has before. You will hurt and the longing will continue until you are gentle with your own heart. As long as you keep your heart open, you will make it through.
In the future you will meet a man whose eyes will greet the light within yours, whose soul resonates with the truth you live. This man will hold still as you open your heart and soul, amazed by the transparency. He will be aroused by your scars and flaws, desiring entry into the wholeness of your being.
Most importantly he will have the courage to stay put when you, with the most beautiful heart and soul, walk through the door.
Then, finally, love will be here to stay.
Author: Cherish Osborne
Editor: Catherine Monkman