After The Last Embrace

It Wasn’t Just Him Who Left

It wasn’t only him who left. It was everything we were. Everything we dreamed of. Everything we built — without realizing it had an expiration date.

The day he left, he didn’t close the door. He left it half-open, as if he wanted me to keep waiting, as if he didn’t have the courage to say, “this is over.” And I — naïve — stayed there. Waiting. Holding on to a love that no longer existed.

People talk about heartbreak as if it were a stage — as if time, distractions, or new beginnings could fix it. But no one tells you that heartbreak is grief. That there are nights when your body remembers. That there are songs that break you. That there are scents that take you back to them. That there are places you can’t step into without feeling like you can’t breathe.

I loved him. Not like in the movies. I loved him with fear, with doubts, with scars. But I loved him. And he loved me too — until he didn’t. And that was the cruelest part. There was no betrayal. No shouting. Just a change. A silence. A distance that kept growing. And somehow, I became a stranger to him.

Losing a love is losing a part of yourself that only existed with that person. It’s looking at your reflection and not recognizing who you are. It’s asking yourself if you were enough. If you did something wrong. If you could have stopped it. And even though you know it’s useless, you ask anyway — because when love leaves, it leaves behind unanswered questions.

I tried to move on. Surrounded myself with people. Laughed louder. Put makeup on my soul. But nothing worked. Because it wasn’t just him. It was everything he represented. It was the future I had imagined. The routine we shared. The morning coffee. The way he said my name. His laughter filling my silence.

And then I understood — love doesn’t leave all at once. It leaves in pieces. It leaves when the messages stop. When they no longer ask how you are. When they no longer touch you the same way. When they stop looking at you as if you were their world. And you — still — keep loving. Keep waiting. Keep believing it’s temporary.

But it’s not. Love left. And you stayed. With the memories. With the photos. With the I love yous that no longer echo. With the flights that no longer have meaning. With a heart full of things you can no longer give.

And that, too, is death. The death of an us. The death of a story. The death of a version of yourself that only existed with them.

🌿 Another Perspective: How to Look at the Loss of Love

Not every love that ends is a failure. Sometimes, loving also means letting go. Sometimes, love completes its cycle — it teaches you, transforms you, breaks you — but also reveals who you are without them.

You don’t have to forget. Remembering isn’t weakness. It’s part of the process — part of honoring what once was. And when you’re ready, remembering will hurt less. It will simply be — a memory.

The love that left didn’t take your ability to love with it. You can still feel. You can still build. You can still look at someone with tenderness again. But first — look at yourself. With compassion. With patience. With love.

You’re not alone in this. The grief of lost love is universal — but your story is yours alone. And it deserves to be felt. To be mourned. To be healed.

🤍 From Me to You

If you’re reading this with a broken heart, if you’ve just lost someone who was your world, I want you to know — I’m with you.

I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve felt the air grow heavier when love walks away.

And here I am, writing for you — so you don’t have to pretend you’re fine. So you know your pain has a place. You’re not broken. You’re grieving. And that, too, is love.

I embrace you from here,

— Luz 🤍