Love itself is a language,
a way of understanding.
The way I expressed my love
how I expected to receive,
and how the world eventually shattered.
But my love alone was never enough.
It was also found in my mature expressions
of care, respect, and understanding.
I have always listened to her,
not just to respond, but to understand.
I listened with empathy.
I wanted to give her
the feeling of being heard,
the reassurance that
I would always be there to listen.
I took accountability,
and I sincerely apologized
when I was wrong,
because I valued her individuality
and the relationship we shared.
I celebrated her successes
and encouraged her to pursue her goals.
That was my way of supporting her,
because I genuinely wanted to see her succeed.
My sincerity did not come from grand gestures,
but from constant communication
and the little things I consistently tried to do.
I did not always know how to handle conflict.
I knew my own triggers
and the emotions that affected my maturity,
yet sometimes I still let them turn
into unnecessary drama.
I showed kindness
even when she did not treat me well.
When things weren't going well,
I acted as though everything was perfect,
perhaps because I was afraid
of losing what we had.
As long as she was within my sight,
I felt calm and secure.
Around her, I felt like myself.
But somewhere along the way,
something changed.
She burned through
the love I carried,
the spirit I held,
and the hope I had for us.
And perhaps the hardest part
was realizing that
no matter how sincerely I loved her,
I could not make love survive
on my own.
By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
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