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letsbelonelytogetherr

— jessica therese, from ‘a different kind of heartbreak’ (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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Paul Landacre

surqrised

“Loving you was like going to war, I never came back the same.”

— Warsan Shire

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there are wounds that don’t show, but they shape you all the same. loving you felt like walking into battle with no armor, no shield—just blind faith that love itself might be enough. but wars have no mercy, and neither did we. “war is peace,” orwell once wrote, and somehow, that made sense with you. our love was fire and fallout, a clash of hope and heartbreak, a constant rebuilding of what we kept tearing down.

igrew up hoping love was soft, something warm to rest in. but no one tells you that love can be brutal, that it can make a home inside your ribs only to set it on fire. “love is so short, forgetting is so long,” neruda wrote, and i feel the truth of it every day. some nights, I still hear the echoes of us in the quiet, still feel the ghost of your hand in mine. but ghosts don’t hold you anymore. they just remind you of what’s gone. ( i don’t know if I miss who you were or who i built, with your features, in my hopes).

you were the kind of war that leaves its mark long after the fighting is done. and for a while, i didn’t know who i was without you. i picked through the ruins of us, looking for pieces of myself, but i wasn’t the same person who walked in. and maybe that’s okay. nietzsche warned: “he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.” and for a time, i feared I had. but i see now—i was never the monster. i was just someone trying to love, trying to survive, trying to make sense of something that never made sense at all.

loving you was like going to war

but war doesn’t last forever, and neither does heartbreak. even the most broken places find ways to bloom again. i don’t look for the past anymore; I’m too busy walking forward. maybe that’s what love teaches us in the end—not just how to endure, but how to rise. to take what’s left and build something new, something softer, something stronger. and so I keep going, not as a survivor, not as someone left behind, but as the architect of my own becoming.