Love has a strange way of finding us, sometimes in joy, but more often in the unravelling. Life, with all its careful plans and promises, can shift in a breath. One moment, you’re steady. Next, you’re staring at the pieces of something you thought would last. And in that quiet wreckage, heart cracked open, hands trembling, love reveals what it really is. I’ve learned that heartbreak doesn’t just hurt. It hollows. It echoes. It lingers in the spaces they once filled, in the silence after laughter, in the absence that follows presence. It takes your breath before you even realise it’s gone. But even in the ache, there is beauty, because to grieve like that means you dared to love deeply. You let yourself be seen, held, known. That kind of love never truly disappears. It leaves something behind. Pain, no matter how sharp, is temporary, though it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it wraps itself around your ribs and makes a home there. But even then, it is love, not just romanti...
Writing the pain, the heal, and everything in between.