Why does love die?

Why does love die? Lies kill love but don’t get me wrong; I am not talking about cheating or lying to your couple, which of course, is a gunshot wound. I am talking about the lies we told ourselves.

We lie when we put expectations on the other one and judge them on those expectations. The fact is that we love the idea of them, not really who they are, and we suffer when the truth comes out.

We lied to ourselves when we blame the time for making the time insufferable and lost passion. Time is not guilty; we could make the most of that routine. Every morning with the intimacy of knowing ourselves at waking uptime, we could find the passion of exploring each other with our lips or just enjoying sharing a cup of coffee. And at bedtime, after the routine good night kiss, we could find time to look at ourselves, enjoy each other, feeling us, touching us, be together in silence, or having a conversation. But we would have to dedicate time and effort, and we rather lie to ourselves than admit that it is the lack of action or the carelessness which has guilt.

We told ourselves the fairytale of a strictly equitable love story, but we are humans. It cannot always be 50/50, sometimes we can only give 10, and the healthiest thing is to recognize that the other has to put up the additional 90 that is missing. But showing our weaknesses is always complicated; we hide our flaws and convince ourselves of the injustice of asking for a little bit more.

When we say that our sadness will go away as soon as someone else comes to fill our voids with love, refusing to admit that there is no such easy way, happiness does not come from outside. First, you work on yourself, and there is no way to harvest a healthy love without sowing self-love.

But above all, we lie to ourselves when we say that love dies. It does not die. It changes or evolves, and sometimes that change comes with the bitter taste of having to let go. The love that remains turns into a memory, sometimes a good one, sometimes not. We can only keep the lesson that came with them, and I could assure you that if we don’t learn from it, it will repeat until we do.

I can only repeat that that strong feeling never dies. There is nothing more exquisite than enjoying it and letting yourself fill up by it; it’s like a cocktail that intoxicates you, and regardless of the hangover, it will have been worth it. I hope even if it hurts, we are willing to feel it again with the lessons of the previous hangover.

Short Stories 01: Feelings – Grief

To keep myself writing, I do different exercises to reinforce my creativity. One of those is that I have a jar in which I put little papers with the name of feelings or emotions, and once a month, I open one of them and write about the emotion.

This time the story is about grief.

Since a month ago, I haven’t heard from you, but don’t get me wrong; I feel your presence all the time. There isn’t a day I don’t think of you, and I even believe there are corners in my place where your smell hides.
While I remove my makeup and get ready to sleep, you appear on my mind. I feel the fear of finding the ghost of your memory inside my bed that feels cold without your body and passion.

The other day I decided I’ll try something different, and when you appear in my mind while brushing my teeth, I hold your memory instead of running from it and let myself cry while remembering you brushing your teeth by my side. Just the way it used to be.

With my eyes closed, I imagined the way you looked at me with the edge of the eye while you were enjoying sharing the daily mundane things. You pass your hands through my hips because, in those moments, you love to touch my skin, and I’m pretty sure I heard your voice. I heard how you said: you are beautiful; just after I remove my makeup.

To remember the way you love me, fill me with nostalgia.

I broke down in tears; I broke in so many pieces I can’t stand up, so I sit to keep my balance. I can’t remember how much time I spend there, but when my body feels dry from crying too much, I went to bed. This time the bed felt warm and peaceful, like if it feels pity for me, so it gets smaller to hold me. So small that your smell couldn’t hide anywhere, and there is no room for your body.

Maybe the secret to stop missing you is to feel you, feel the love I have left, let it penetrate in such an intense way I can’t keep it, and then love escapes. Since you don’t appear more, love could only run away and never turn back.

Maybe that way, someday I feel empty, empty from you. Ready to fill me with another smell, another love, another warm body, and the prints of other hands running through my skin while I brush my teeth.