THE WORST KIND OF LOSS

He was the love of my life,

the quiet reason my heart remembered how to beat,

the name my soul answered to

before my mind ever caught up.

I loved him—not gently,

but with the kind of love that rearranges you,

that makes a home in your chest

and calls it purpose.

For months, my world narrowed into us—

late nights that blurred into dawn,

words whispered when the world was asleep,

stolen moments that felt like forever

compressed into hours.

I learned his presence like a language,

his touch like a promise,

his closeness like oxygen—

and I didn’t know I was breathing

until he was gone.

I miss the intimacy that lived between us,

the safety, the heat, the silence after laughter,

the way his arms made everything else disappear.

I miss being known.

Losing him didn’t just break my heart—

it emptied rooms inside me

I didn’t know I would have to live without.

And now I carry the ache of loving fully,

of giving everything,

of knowing that something so real

can still be taken away.

This is the worst kind of loss—

not because the love wasn’t enough,

but because it was.🤩

Morning without you

 Morning finds me before I am ready,

before my heart remembers how to beat alone.

I wake reaching for a voice

that no longer answers my name.

The bed is quiet.

Too quiet.

Silence presses where love once lived.

For months, loving you vasq was my language,

my routine, my breath between hours.

Now the day opens like a question

I don’t yet know how to answer.

I miss your face

the way desire felt certain,

the warmth that convinced my body

I was chosen.

Grief comes in ordinary moments—

light through the window,

the first thought of the day,

the habit of you.

I am not broken.

I am withdrawing from a life

I built around your presence.

So if I cry in the morning,

let it be known:

this is the sound of love learning

how to stand on its own.

And though today feels impossible,

I am still here.

Still breathing.

Still becoming someone

who survives the absence

and keeps going.

A HEART THAT LEARNED TO SURVIVE

 I stayed where love had teeth,

where my name was shouted,

where silence was safer than asking,

and leaving felt heavier than staying.

I left and returned,

again and again,

because hope is stubborn

when it grows in wounded places.

I lived with a man

who rationed kindness,

who counted my child’s hunger,

who made food feel like guilt

and love feel like debt.

My body learned fear before desire.

Touch arrived without tenderness.

Breath left before pleasure began.

Even my tears learned to be quiet.

I became someone else to survive—

angry, fragmented,

borrowing warmth from strangers

just to remember I was human.

Then I chose solitude.

I chose work.

I chose to build, to finish, to achieve.

I learned how to be a machine

because machines do not break.

And then I met you.

You were softness.

You were presence.

You were the first place

my heart rested without flinching.

I loved you deeply—

not loudly, not recklessly,

but with the kind of love

that finally believes it is safe.

Then your voice grew distant.

Your words thinned.

I began counting pauses,

reading silence like prophecy.

I blamed myself.

My past taught me to do that.

To believe love leaves

because I am too much,

too wounded, too afraid.

I don’t want many bodies.

I want one heart.

I only bloom in love.

Without it, I dry quietly,

and even pleasure forgets me.

So here I am—

loving hard,

hurting honestly,

terrified of losing what I finally found.

If I reach for you too often,

it is not control.

It is memory.

It is a woman who learned

that love can vanish without warning.

I am not broken—

I am surviving in a body

that remembers everything.

If I ask you to stay,

it is not weakness.

It is hope,

still brave enough

to try again Vasq.

HEALING ISN'T SIMPLE

 .

People talk about moving on from heartbreak like it’s a simple thing

“Just cry and move on,” they say—like pain works on a timer.

But nobody prepares you for those nights when your chest feels heavy, your mind won’t slow down, and your heart refuses to release what it once held so tightly.

No one talks about the 2 a.m. hours—

when the whole world is quiet but your thoughts are unbearably loud.

When sleep runs away from you because your mind is replaying every moment, every conversation, every “what if,” every future you had already started building in your head.

Nobody warns you that heartbreak can feel physical.

The tight chest, the heaviness in your body, the tears that appear out of nowhere.

You’re not being dramatic—you’re grieving a bond your heart had fully invested in.

Healing feels lonely, too.

You can be surrounded by people and still feel unseen.

Because no one lived your love story the way you did—no one carried your hope, your effort, your emotional depth.

And healing is never a straight line.

One day you’re sure you’ve outgrown the situation, and the next day you miss them so suddenly and so deeply that you question everything.

That doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.

No one tells you how long it takes to unlearn the habits.

The morning check-ins.

The comfort of their voice.

The feeling of having someone to share your day with.

Heartbreak isn’t just losing a person—it’s losing a rhythm.

And maybe the toughest part is learning to trust yourself again.

Because heartbreak makes you doubt your judgment, your worth, your ability to choose people.

But loving deeply doesn’t mean you loved wrong—it means you loved courageously. And courage always leaves a mark.

So no, moving on isn’t “cry and get over it.”

It’s sitting with the pain, understanding yourself, forgiving yourself, rebuilding piece by piece, and choosing peace one day at a time.

It’s slow. It’s messy.

But eventually, your heart stops breaking—and starts breathing again.

I MISS HIM

There was a warmth in him

that didn’t match his quiet smile,

a kind of fire he carried

beneath all that gentleness.

With him, closeness felt different —

like he understood my language

without ever needing the words.

A touch became a conversation,

a moment became a memory

I still feel in my skin.

He knew how to hold space for me,

how to meet me where I was,

how to awaken parts of me

I didn’t know were waiting.

Sometimes I miss the way

he made me feel seen,

the quiet magic,

the unspoken heat,

the way his presence

could turn a heartbeat

into something louder.

I miss the man he was to the world —

and the fire he was to me.

MAYBE ONE DAY YOU WILL UNDERSTAND

 

Maybe one day you’ll understand this:

I never wanted a battlefield.

I never wanted loud arguments or quiet distance.

All I ever wanted was to feel chosen…

to feel safe…

to feel like love didn’t have to be earned like a prize.

It was never me against you.

It was me trying to hold together something I valued.

Me trying to protect the softness between us.

Me trying to show up in the ways I once wished

someone had shown up for me.

You called it “too much.”

Too emotional.

Too intense.

But what I gave wasn’t pressure—

it was care.

The kind of love that stays when things get tough,

not the kind that disappears when it becomes inconvenient.

I never wanted you to doubt yourself.

Ironically, you made me doubt myself every day.

And maybe one day, you’ll look back and see it:

I wasn’t trying to control anything.

I wasn’t demanding perfection.

I was just trying to love you

in the only honest way I knew—

even when you kept pushing me further away Vasq.

YOU LEFT ME PARKED IN MY THOUGHTS

I parked here to breathe,

because the weight in my chest grew loud.

The world kept moving,

but my h

eart needed a quiet corner.

Sadness sat beside me,

not to break me,

but to remind me I’m human.

Maybe healing is a journey,

maybe it starts with a road trip,

a suitcase,

and a place where the sky feels lighter.

So I’ll take a small vacation—

not to escape life,

but to find myself again

somewhere my spirit can sigh in peace.