Bittersweet Love

To love is to take the risk of suffering. No one says it loud enough, but love is also a pain that seeps into the skin, clings to the bones, and prevents us from breathing when the other leaves. There are those sleepless nights when we stare at the ceiling, hoping the emptiness will eventually swallow us. Those mornings when absence is a freezing slap, a cruel reminder that it’s all over. Those messages never sent, those memories that show up uninvited, that helpless rage against a love we can no longer touch. We’d like to forget, erase, start over. But the truth is, we carry each lost love within us like an invisible scar. We can move on, we can smile, but there’s always that dull pain, lurking in a corner of the heart, ready to resurface at the turn of a song, a scent, or a simple glance crossing by chance on a street. Love is not only the frantic beats of a first kiss. It is also the echo of a "I love you" we will never hear again.

Love is an ember. It begins with a spark, fragile and timid, dancing in the breeze of our desires. Then it ignites, it burns, it consumes. It warms our souls and lights up our nights, but it can also reduce us to ashes. To love is to walk barefoot on a tightrope stretched between the sky and the abyss. It’s savoring the sweetness of a kiss knowing it could be the last. It’s writing promises on the skin of the beloved, hoping they never fade. But one day, the flame weakens. The other drifts away, or perhaps it is fate that blows too hard. Then, all that remains is the smoke of memories, clinging to our skin like a scent that refuses to extinguish. We become the ashes of a past love, scattered by the wind of regret. And yet, despite the burns, despite the scars, we always reach out toward the fire. Because love, even when it hurts, remains the most beautiful of all fires.