Goodbye, Love
No Longer Yours
Love,
People used to say that when you came, the world was painted in bright colours. But what I see now is a dull ache, with colours washed away by a never-ending rain of sadness.
We used to be young, right? Foolish people who thought your promises were true when they were whispered in private times and under the stars. You were like a melody of hope that filled every part of my body. My homes in the clouds were built on trust that I had no reason to doubt.
But walls fall down, Love. They fall apart when promises are broken and goals change. The symphony turned into a chaos of lies, a tune that didn’t fit that hurt my soul.
The warmth you said you would give us turned into a bitter cold. That tight grip on my hand turned into someone else’s, and its touch was a deception as well.
I no longer see you as the good God I used to worship, but as a sly trickster. You hold out hope to people who are desperately need it, only to take it away for no reason.
I don’t want to be your toy anymore, maybe because I’m too proud. The rose-colored glasses are broken, and a cynical view has taken their place. I’m not going to chase after a ghost, a short-lived high that will always end in a crushing low.
There is a hole where you used to live that reminds me of the love I gave and the weakness I showed. But there is a strange power growing inside that emptiness. A sense of self-reliance that was formed in the ashes of loss.
Goodbye, Love. You can control other people by weaving your lies around their hearts. But mine? It’s now a castle, and the stones that made up its walls are made from broken hearts.
I’ll find comfort in other things, in interests that won’t fail me. One day, maybe a different kind of love will come along, one that is based on trust and respect. But for now it’s okay that I walk by myself.
Except… maybe there’s a small flame in the quiet parts of my heart. A flash that hints at a possibility that is so far away that it almost seems like a dream. But if the great mastermind of fate, the one they call God, wrote my love story himself in ink that couldn’t be messed up by betrayal, then maybe, just maybe, I would believe in you again.
But for now, Love, this is the end of our conversation.
No longer yours,
The Disillusioned One, with a small question in their mind.
© Shuvranil Sanyal, 2024
