My love for her was real,
maybe it wasn't right.
When I was with her,
something felt beautiful,
and somehow, it still became painful.
My relationship with her
ended in her soul
before it ended in life,
as her silences grew heavier.
She once felt like shelter,
but slowly, she began to feel like waiting.
My heart never moved by logic.
It was moved by her magic.
It remembers how she looked at me
when I felt most seen.
It loves the version of myself
that existed beside her.
Now I grieve the person I was
when I was in her presence.
My heart is divided.
One part of me knows clearly,
while another part is still setting the table
for someone who is never coming to dine.
My love turned into a burden,
as I suffered through her silence.
I was loved in a way
that slowly made me feel
like I had to disappear.
I suffer because I thought
that if the feeling was deep enough,
it should be enough.
I realised that life
does not move by feeling alone.
What we had was true,
yet it was still unable
to become a place of peace.
I felt like I was being disloyal
to my own heart
when I let her go,
as though I was abandoning
something sacred.
But it was my fear
wearing the clothes of love.
Letting her go
did not erase the tenderness,
the lessons, the warmth, or the pain.
I was only asking the future
to carry something
that was never meant to be.
She came like monsoon rain,
flooded my earth,
and awakened emotions
I had kept sleeping inside me.
And then she left.
But her leaving
does not make the rain false.
My feelings for her did not stop,
but her feelings stopped
ruling my whole sky.
The end of love
is not the end of feeling.
By
Sanji-Paul Arvind
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