“How are you, love?”
It felt like a miracle that she asked, completely out of the blue. Maybe our closest friends are attuned to our inner turmoil, sensing when something isn’t right.
I wanted to be honest with her, to tell her the truth—that I was hurting, disappointed, maybe even defeated.
But I couldn’t. Not without casting the man I loved in a bad light. So, instead, I chose to protect him, burying my own feelings deep inside.
I almost lied and told her I was fine. It’s strange what we do for love—silently enduring just to keep their image intact in front of others.
I’ve been here before. I’ve learned this lesson. Yet, here I was, ready to repeat it because I had fallen once again. How foolish—after everything, how foolish.
But instead of hiding, I let myself be vulnerable. I told her the truth—that I’m still trying to figure it all out. Some days feel like a dream; others, it feels like I’m on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it. Love never seems to be kind to the heart.
She tells me that doesn’t sound good. I tell her it isn’t. And I’m too afraid to admit it to myself.
And so I pray, hoping that I can find a way to protect my heart before it’s too late.
She Was Sea 