I wish I could love you in a way everything was all you, again.
There's a peculiar kind of ache that comes with loving someone in a way that's less than whole, a love that's been chipped away at, leaving only the sharp, jagged edges. It's the kind of love that cuts into you every time you breathe, a reminder that the air you inhale is the same air that once danced around them, tantalizingly close yet immeasurably far.
I used to dream of loving in vast, boundless measures, where the universe itself seemed too small a stage for the magnitude of my affection. I wished to love in a way that made everything else insignificant, where the mere thought of you would eclipse the sun, the stars, and the galaxies beyond. I wished to love you in a way that was all-consuming, where sacrificing the world for your sake would be as effortless as the sun's rise each morning. But wishes, as they say, are the currency of the foolhardy, and I, it seems, had invested heavily in a market of heartache.
Now, my love for you has been distilled into something painfully pure. It's a love that hurts, a love that's become its own entity, gnawing away at my insides, leaving me raw and exposed. Do you ever feel the weight of a love that's too heavy to carry, yet too precious to put down? It's like holding onto a shard of glass, knowing it will cut you, but you can't let go because it's the last piece of something beautiful that once was.
I find myself wondering, is it worse to have loved and lost, or to have loved and be left with the echoes of what could have been? To see you in the crowd, the light catching your hair just so, and feel the world tilt on its axis, only to remember that the axis now spins on a point of pain. How do you reconcile the image of someone who was once your everything with the reality that they are now just a silhouette against the backdrop of your life?
There's a cruel irony in the way love can transform. It starts as a gentle flame, warm and inviting, only to rage into an inferno that consumes everything in its path, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. And here I am, sifting through the remnants, searching for a spark that might reignite the fire, knowing full well it would only burn me again.
I've asked myself a thousand times if I would go back and do it all over again, knowing the heartache that awaited me. Would I still choose to love you with every fiber of my being, or would I take the coward's way out and shield myself from the inevitable fall? The truth is, I would choose you, every single time. Because even though this love hurts, it's a testament to the depth of what we had. It's a reminder that I am capable of a love so profound, so intense, that not even the pain of its loss can diminish its worth.
But what does it say about me, that I would willingly embrace this suffering? Is it strength or foolishness that keeps me tethered to a love that no longer exists outside the confines of my own heart? I grapple with these questions, turning them over and over, like stones worn smooth by the relentless tide of my longing.
The reality is, I can't love you the way I used to. That love belonged to a different time, a different version of us. Now, I love you in the quiet moments, in the spaces between breaths, in the whispered dreams of what we might have been. I love you in the past tense, with a love that's a ghost of what it once was, haunting me with memories that refuse to fade.
I wish I could say that this love has made me stronger, that it's given me the courage to face the world with a defiant heart. But the truth is, it's left me battered and bruised, nursing wounds that may never fully heal. And yet, despite the pain, despite the scars, I wouldn't trade this love for anything in the world. Because it's mine, in all its agonizing glory.
So here I am, penning my heartache into existence, hoping that somehow, these words will reach you, that they will echo through the void and touch the edges of your soul. I'm not asking for a second chance; I'm not even asking for absolution. All I'm asking is for you to understand the breadth and depth of a love that refuses to die, even as it slowly kills me from the inside out.
In the end, this is my confession, my testimony to a love that was all-encompassing, a love that was you, again and again. A love that, despite the hurt, I would sacrifice the world for, over and over, without a moment's hesitation. Because, in the twisted labyrinth of my being, you will always be the minotaur at its center, fierce and untamed, a beast I will never stop trying to tame, even if it means losing myself in the process.
-ayi, @hyikien on insta :)
