Lost love.

“‘It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” ~Alfred Lord Tennyson

I met a special someone. It was my first taste of love and I was sheepishly drunk with it. His were eyes I could look into forever, and he had a voice I could hear till the end of time. It was absolutely frightening.

We were colleagues. I unwittingly got involved in his life, and eventually found myself wanting to get even more involved.

After a period of ambiguous yes-no-maybes, he exited the picture for good. He never wanted to talk about it, or wanted anything to do with me again.

I was distraught, destroyed. Shot.

“MOVE ON”
There was a cacophony of voices, concerned friends, self-help books, parental wisdom all cooing, screaming, demanding me to let it go, let him go.

They were all voices echoing the same rational advice. It’s only logical to disconnect, eject, and proceed. Move on.

I couldn’t.

Not a day went by without me cross-examining myself for faults, things I should or shouldn’t have done, things I could do to fix it.

Self-help books and long runs with blaring earphones only gave a brief respite. Reason left me as soon I put the books down. My mind wandered back to the hurts when I stopped running, breathless and ever-desperate.

“Move on!