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My cells used to vibrate fiercely to the rhythm of your voice.
Your melodic whispers of I love you left my body dizzy with the possibility of an electrifying, forever love.
But then, I was launched into a violent, unforgiving riptide. I began to drown in an undertow of self-pity and despair.
Waves of resentment bit into my skin—their icy teeth sunk in deep. They sent chills up my spine, one vertebrae at a time.
A choir of gulls crooned a melancholy song as if to mourn our love. Every last shred of hope sank to the depths of the ocean floor.
Every inch of my body, once traced by your fingertips, ached in agony, knowing those same fingertips caressed another woman’s curves the night before.
Oh, how the manipulation tasted so sweet—like sugar and honey on my lips. Oh, how the lies felt like ecstasy. I still replay moments when our bare bodies were intertwined—skin to skin—two silhouettes in an effortless, harmonious dance.
But this vision has been interrupted by the brutal fact that another woman was enmeshed in our sheets while I was in another city.
How could I have been so naive?
I tried to separate fiction from reality. I tried to translate the word: cheater.
Infidelity was a foreign language to me. It was no more than a cautionary tale of my parents’ failed marriage. But our love story was suddenly written in hieroglyphics. It was something that made no sense.
And I was left to decipher it all on my own.
The revival after betrayal
You can’t quite pinpoint at what stage you have this sudden realization—the revival. It could be a cathartic moment where you finally understand that true healing doesn’t come from shaming your ex or hating them.
And unfortunately, it doesn’t come from posting pictures on social media documenting your “glow up.” It doesn’t come from pretending that you weren’t spending your nights sobbing into a pint of mint chocolate chip gelato while blasting Lizzo.
It comes from dethroning them. It comes from dethroning them from the pedestal you had meticulously crafted. You take that throne you made of diamonds, gold, and all things royal. You make room for yourself to sit there.
Yes, the revival comes when you realize that all of the qualities you admired in them already lie within yourself.
It happens once you pour all of the unconditional love you had been giving so freely to them, into yourself.
Healing after a lost or broken love is often depicted as a grueling, painfully slow shedding. It’s like a cigarette as it slowly dissipates into the air, becoming nothing more than a stub.
The process is like a wildfire set ablaze, fertile ground for rebirth and regeneration—if you choose. It occurs the moment you decide to rise from the ashes.
Whether or not you still hold embers of love for this person, declare this mantra with smoke coated lungs:
“This is me taking back my power. This is my revival.“