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What is Love? Is it the act of giving oneself so freely
that vulnerability becomes an open invitation? Or is it the courage to erect
towering walls, only to find someone who dares to scale them? Perhaps my
understanding is flawed. I believed that the rapid dance of my heartbeat upon
gazing into your eyes signified love. Others might argue that love is the
reverence and respect in one’s voice.
Yet, I stand in the midst of uncertainty, missing you deeply. And I know she
pines for him just as fervently. They say timing is inconsequential—if it’s the
sole factor, then perhaps it was never meant to be. Love, I’ve been told,
transcends distance, a notion that neither she nor I could dispute.
Loyalty? It was yours unequivocally, or perhaps it was.
Your absence echoes loudly, as does his. I once believed that offering you the
world would suffice, but it seems the world was too diminutive. I grapple with
feelings of inadequacy, foolish for thinking I could be your savior. It appears
I never stood a chance.
Yet, in this realization, I’ve unearthed a truth: I am capable of salvation, not for you, but for myself. The world I offered, which you overlooked, now belongs to the resilient woman you relinquished.
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