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RELATIONSHIPS | HOW TO LOVE

The Things They Forgot To Tell Me About Love

No one tells you that to be in love is to burn yourself over and over again

Assumpta Nalubowa
Age of Empathy
Published in
6 min readNov 9, 2022

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This morning, he feels more like a friend.

I went to bed last night dreaming of sleeping in his arms, of belonging to him, of being with him till death did us part and yet this morning, he feels more like a friend.

There’s a lump inside my neck. The same lump I had the first time I tried to subdue him: You cannot think about him, Assumpta. Suppress him. Kill those memories. Do not think about him.

I’ve always been a little obsessed.

I lie.

Every part of me, every morsel, my cells, my skin, my very breath — everything I am ached for him. I’ve thought about him every second of every day since we started talking. That’s what he became: a constant presence, a thing I carried within me everywhere I went, a part of who I am, of my essence — my very flesh.

“Why do you love me?” he asked constantly.

“Because I’m choiceless,” I replied.

He didn’t like that answer.

If she had her way, she wouldn’t be with you — that’s how he interpreted my reply.

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Age of Empathy
Age of Empathy

Published in Age of Empathy

We publish high-quality personal essays, humor essays, and writer interviews. Our goal is to provide a place for experienced writers to share authentic stories and connect with others, collectively celebrating a common passion, striving toward an age of empathy.

Assumpta Nalubowa
Assumpta Nalubowa

Written by Assumpta Nalubowa

Words on: Writing and Creativity | Spirituality and Mysticism | Self-improvement

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