tipsytruths - Tumblr blog

[tipsytruths]

You're my almost, my maybe.

You're the unfinished sentence, the half-written love letter that never found its way into an envelope. You're the lingering gaze across a crowded room, the smile that almost dared to cross the line between friendly and something more. You lived in the space between what could have been and what never was, a twilight of possibilities that neither of us had the courage—or perhaps the timing—to explore.

You were the nights spent texting until dawn, the conversations that veered so close to vulnerability but always retreated just in time. You were the plans made with a question mark at the end, the dates that felt like they could be something more but always left an open door for escape. You hovered in that liminal space, where every gesture carried the weight of potential, yet you never fully committed to the leap.

And now, you're the quiet acceptance that some things are meant to remain incomplete. You're the soft sigh of a chapter that never needed to be finished, a story that found its closure in the spaces between the words. Letting go wasn’t a dramatic act; it was more like releasing a balloon into the sky, watching it drift away until it’s just a dot on the horizon.

Saying goodbye was simply acknowledging that we were never meant to be more than a moment—beautiful in its own right, but fleeting. You let go, not with regret, but with the understanding that some loves are meant to be almosts and maybes, cherished for what they were and then gently set free.

[tipsytruths]

I miss being special to someone—the feeling of being seen through the eyes of another, where every glance held a silent understanding, a connection that needed no words.

There was a time when I was the thought that lingered at the edge of a morning, the message that brought warmth to a lonely afternoon. I was the one whose presence was anticipated, whose absence was felt like a shadow in the corner of a room. My quirks weren’t just noticed but cherished—how the smallest gestures, like a shared smile or a glance, made it feel like the world was ours alone. I miss the warmth of a hand reaching out for mine, not out of obligation, but because, in that moment, there was no better place to be.

Being special to someone made the world feel a little less heavy, like there was a cushion against the sharp edges of reality. It was knowing that there was always a person whose day brightened just at the sound of my voice, someone who carried a small piece of me with them in their thoughts. I miss that quiet certainty, that knowledge that I mattered deeply to another—that I was someone’s chosen, the name they whispered in the safety of their solitude.

But now, the echoes of those days seem faint, as if they belong to another life. The spaces once filled with shared laughter and unspoken bonds now hold only silence.

It’s the absence of that one person who saw beyond the surface, who understood the unspoken words, who made me feel seen in a way that was profound and intimate. I miss the assurance that I mattered to someone in a way no one else did—that my presence was not just welcomed but needed. There’s a hollow space now where that connection used to live, a quiet ache that lingers in the hours when the world is too still.

I miss being special to someone because, in their eyes, I was more than just myself—I was someone worth holding onto, someone who mattered in the quiet, small ways that made all the difference in the world.

Now, there’s a loneliness that lingers in the spaces where their affection used to be. The late-night texts that once made my heart race are replaced by silence. The small surprises, the inside jokes, the warmth of their gaze—they’ve all faded into distant memories. I find myself longing for the feeling of being important, of being needed, of being the person someone else thinks of first when they wake up and last before they fall asleep.

It’s not just about love or companionship; it’s about the deep human need to matter to someone, to be the reason behind someone’s smile, the calm in their storm. I miss being that person. I miss the way it made the world seem a little less daunting, a little more beautiful. I miss the connection, the closeness, the feeling of being special to someone—because in their eyes, I found a reflection of the best version of myself.

Being special to someone meant being part of something larger than myself—a bond that transcended the ordinary, making the mundane feel magical. I miss that sense of belonging, of being woven into the fabric of someone’s life in a way that was uniquely mine.

Now, there’s only the echo of what once was, a reminder of how it felt to be truly and deeply known.

[tipsytruths]

I love solitude. There’s a special peace I find in being alone, a quiet that’s both comforting and invigorating. I’ve always cherished these moments of solitude, where I can retreat into myself and savor the stillness that recharges my soul. It’s in these solitary spaces that I find clarity and a sense of calm that the bustling world outside often denies me.

But lately, this solitude has taken on a different hue. Instead of the familiar refuge it once was, it has become a canvas for my echoing thoughts of you. When I am alone, my mind drifts to memories of our lost love, replaying the moments we shared and the paths we never took. The silence seems to amplify the haunting questions that linger in my heart:

What if we had tried harder?

What if we had fought with all our might to make it work?

What if we had given it everything we had?

These questions swirl around me in the stillness, each one a whisper of the possibilities we never explored. The solitude that once brought me peace now feels like a stage for my regrets and reflections. It’s as if the quiet has become a mirror, reflecting not just who I am but who we might have been together.

Each day alone is filled with a dialogue of possibilities—what we could have achieved if we had been braver, if we had stayed committed through the storms. I find myself contemplating the what-ifs and maybes of our relationship, wondering if things could have been different had we approached them with a bit more perseverance and courage.

In these solitary moments, the line between past and present blurs. The love we lost feels tangible again, almost within reach, like a distant melody that’s just out of earshot. The solitude that I once embraced so fully now carries the bittersweet weight of memories and dreams that will never come to be.

Yet, despite the sadness that shadows these thoughts, solitude remains a place where I can confront and process these feelings. It is in this quiet that I wrestle with the weight of our lost love, seeking to understand and come to terms with the choices we made and the life we might have shared.

I hold on to the hope that one day, the echoes of what-ifs will be replaced by a sense of peace and acceptance. So, I sit with my thoughts, surrounded by the echoes of a love that might have been, grappling with the silent conversations of my heart, trying to reconcile the peace I seek in solitude with the restless yearning for a love that is no longer there.

I love solitude, just not this kind.

[tipsytruths]

Maybe in a few years, our paths will cross again, like two wayward travelers unexpectedly meeting on a familiar road. By then, the sting of past hurts may have dulled, replaced by the bittersweet nostalgia of shared memories.

I imagine us standing in a crowded café or along a bustling street, our eyes meeting with a recognition that goes beyond words. In that moment, I’ll find the courage to tell you how desperately in love I was with you—a love so intense it felt like it could light up the darkest corners of the universe.

I’ll recount the moments of joy and passion, the times when being with you felt like breathing in pure happiness. I’ll share with you the depth of my feelings, how they once consumed me completely, and how they shaped who I am now.

As we reminisce about the past, we’ll also laugh about the ways we broke each other’s hearts—those painful yet formative experiences that taught us about ourselves and about love. The broken promises, the tears, and the misunderstandings will become part of our shared history, transformed from sources of pain into fodder for laughter. We’ll recognize the irony in how we both tried so hard to be everything the other needed, only to fall short in ways that were as heartbreaking as they were inevitable.

There will be a sense of acceptance and understanding between us, a recognition that the scars of our past were not in vain but rather steps on our journey toward growth. We’ll appreciate how those experiences, painful as they were, led us to who we are today. Our laughter will be tinged with the wisdom of hindsight, a testament to the resilience of our hearts and the enduring connection we once shared.

In those moments of reflection, we’ll find solace in the fact that our story, with all its highs and lows, was a significant part of our lives. And as we part ways once more, we’ll do so with a sense of peace and fondness, knowing that while we may have once broken each other’s hearts, we also shared something profoundly beautiful.

Maybe we’ll finally find the closure we never got—a sense of resolution to our story that was left unfinished.

Or perhaps our paths will never cross again, leaving us to wonder about the what-ifs and maybes of a future that remains forever out of reach.

[tipsytruths]

And now you're just a stranger with all my secrets.

It's strange how quickly everything can change, how someone who once felt like home can become as distant as a fading memory.

There was a time when you were everything—my confidant, my safe place, the person I turned to when the weight of the world was too much to bear. I trusted you with pieces of myself I’d never shown anyone else. You knew me in ways that I sometimes struggled to know myself. You held my fears, my hopes, my darkest thoughts, and my wildest dreams.

But things changed, didn’t they? Slowly at first, like a door creaking shut, until one day it was fully closed. The connection we once shared—the one that felt so unbreakable—became strained, then fractured, until it was nothing more than a distant memory. You drifted away, carried by the currents of life to a place where I no longer belong. And yet, you still hold all those secrets, all the things I told you when I believed you’d always be there.

It’s a haunting thought, really. It's unsettling, this idea that someone who is now so distant from me knows so much about who I am, or who I was.

You’re a stranger now, but you hold more of me than most people ever will. You carry the weight of my trust, the things I whispered in the dark when I thought you’d always be there to hear them. You have the stories I shared, the tears I cried, the laughter that bubbled up in moments of joy.

I wonder if you ever think of them, or if they’ve become as distant to you as the memory of us. Do you still carry them with the same care, or have they become forgotten relics of a past you no longer wish to revisit? The questions linger, unanswered, as we move forward in our separate lives.

But even as a stranger, you hold a part of me that no one else does, a part of me that you could never fully return. And so, I walk on, knowing that somewhere out there, a stranger carries the weight of my whispered confessions, my hidden fears, and the secrets that will forever tie us together, even as we remain apart.

Now we're left with this strange reality: you, a stranger with the key to my most private thoughts, and me, wondering how something that once felt so permanent could dissolve into nothingness. It's a bittersweet reminder of how relationships can change, how someone can go from being your closest confidant to a mere passer-by, all while still holding pieces of your heart that you'll never fully get back.

[tipsytruths]

4 AM

4 AM knows all my secrets. It's the hour when the world is hushed, and the darkness wraps around me like a shroud. In the silence, there is no hiding, no pretending. The mask I wear during the day falls away, leaving me exposed to the truth that I can barely face when the sun is up.

4 AM is when the thoughts I've buried come rushing to the surface, relentless and unyielding. They creep out from the corners of my mind, where I've pushed them down, hoping they'd stay hidden forever. But 4 AM knows better. It knows the fears I carry, the regrets that haunt me, and the dreams I've let slip through my fingers.

It's in these moments that I feel most alone, surrounded by the emptiness of a world still asleep. The walls close in, and the silence is deafening, filled with the echoes of what could have been. 4 AM listens to my confessions, the whispered admissions of loneliness, of missed chances, of a heart that longs for something more but has forgotten how to find it.

The darkness is a mirror, reflecting back every doubt, every insecurity. It's a time when the past and the future blend into one, and I'm left standing in the middle, unsure of which way to turn. 4 AM knows the pain I try to hide behind a smile, the tears I refuse to shed in the light of day.

But there's a strange comfort in it too, in knowing that 4 AM sees me as I am, without pretense or disguise. It’s a companion in my solitude, a witness to my truth. It doesn’t judge or offer solutions; it simply is, holding space for the thoughts I dare not speak aloud.

As the night slowly fades and the first light of dawn breaks through, the secrets retreat once more into the shadows. But 4 AM will return, and when it does, it will remember everything.

[tipsytruths]

I'm afraid to grow old. The thought creeps in like the quiet chill of dawn, unsettling in its stillness. There's a fear of lonely mornings, where the sun rises without warmth, where the silence echoes through empty rooms, bouncing off walls that have known too much quiet. I fear the empty bed that greets me night after night, a stark reminder that the days are long gone when laughter filled the corners of this home.

I used to count on a young love to grow old with me, to hold my hand as the years etched lines on our faces, to share the stories that time would only make sweeter. I dreamed of those golden years, where we’d sit by the window, our hands intertwined, watching the world pass by with the comfort of shared memories.

But now, wishing is all that’s left. The days are longer, the nights more restless, and the space beside me remains unfilled. I find myself staring into the abyss of the unknown, afraid of growing old alone, where the only company is the echo of what could have been.

[tipsytruths]

Loneliness is often misunderstood. It's not the absence of company, but the hollow ache that comes from believing no one cares. It's being surrounded by a crowd, yet feeling unseen. It's the quiet echo of thoughts that go unheard, the longing for a connection that remains out of reach.

Loneliness is like a shadow that clings to the edges of your existence. Even in the brightest moments, it lingers, a reminder of the unspoken distance between your heart and the world. You can laugh, share stories, and go through the motions of life, but beneath it all lies a quiet desperation—a yearning for someone to notice the silent battles you fight.

It's not the solitude that hurts; it's the sense of invisibility. The fear that your absence might go unnoticed, that your voice could be swallowed by the void, leaving no trace. It's the weight of unshed tears, the burden of unspoken words, and the isolation that comes not from being alone, but from feeling as though your existence doesn't truly matter to anyone.

Loneliness is the silence that follows when you reach out and find no hand to grasp. It's the empty space in conversations where understanding should be. It's the late-night thoughts that spiral into doubts, convincing you that you're not worthy of the care you so desperately seek.

But perhaps the cruelest part of loneliness is its paradox: it thrives in the presence of others. You can be loved, admired, even surrounded by people who genuinely care, yet still feel utterly alone. Because loneliness isn't about the number of people around you—it's about the connection that feels just out of reach, the warmth that remains distant no matter how close you stand.

[tipsytruths]

It's strange, really, how the absence of a simple connection can evoke such profound feelings.

I find myself staring at the space where your name once resided in my followers list. It was a name I had grown accustomed to seeing, despite our silent pact of parting. It's a void now, an empty space of memories and what-ifs. The absence of your name is a reminder that even in the vast expanse of the virtual realm, connections can fray and dissolve.

We haven't spoken since that day. Our words faded into the silence of unresolved endings, and the silence between us grew thicker with each passing day. Yet, your presence, even in the form of pixels on a screen, held a tether to a past I struggle to release. In the haunting corridors of cyberspace, I found myself lingering, stealing glances at your digital facade—hoping to catch a glimpse of the life you now lead without me. It's a masochistic dance—this longing to know—yet fearing what I might find.

But why does it hurt?

Why does the mere act of unfollowing ignite a pang of sadness within? The action seems insignificant, perhaps even expected. But I guess it's the finality of it all, the acknowledgment that our paths have diverged irreversibly. Or maybe it's the stark reminder that time doesn't heal all wounds—that some scars remain tender to the touch, no matter how much we try to conceal them.

And yet, despite the ache in my chest, I find myself drawn to your profile, like a moth to a flame. It's a habit born out of curiosity, a desperate attempt to glean some semblance of closure from the fragments of your digital existence. I tell myself it's harmless, that I'm just checking in, but deep down, I know the truth.

I'm searching for something I can't name, something intangible yet essential. Perhaps it's a glimpse of your smile, a hint of your happiness, a reassurance that you’ve moved on and found peace. Or maybe, just maybe, it's a selfish desire to hold onto a piece of you, even if it's merely a digital illusion.

But tonight, as I hover over your profile, I realize with a sinking heart that the digital thread connecting us has finally been severed. You’ve unfollowed me, a simple action that speaks volumes of finality. The door has been firmly shut, sealing away a part of my past that I have been clinging to, albeit silently.

Then a bittersweet realization kicks in—I can't keep clinging to the connection that no longer exists. I can't keep torturing myself with futile hopes and silent wishes. I know I should let go, move on from this digital purgatory that keeps me tethered to a love that's long since faded. Yet, as I sit here, I can't help but mourn the loss of what once was, the ache of a heart that still beats with the ghost of your memory.

So tonight, I'll allow myself to grieve.

For in the silence of this solitary moment, I find solace knowing that even though our paths have diverged, there’s a place in me where a part of you will forever be a part of me.

With a heavy sigh, I tear my gaze away from the screen, a single tear tracing a silent path down my cheek. It's time to unfollow not just you, but the memories that bind us. It's time to reclaim my heart and rewrite the narrative of my life, one keystroke at a time.

[tipsytruths]

Some goodbyes really hit you hard, like a sudden punch to the gut that seem to splinter the very core of your being. They leave you feeling utterly broken inside. These are the ones that can make tears flow and your heart ache, like when you lose someone you deeply care for or bid farewell to a cherished dream. It's as if your heart has shattered into countless pieces, each fragment a painful reminder of the love that once filled your life.

Then, there are the goodbyes that shape you, much like a sculptor molding clay into a new form. Despite the pain, these farewells chisel away the rough edges of your soul, refining your character and leaving you stronger and more resilient. They act as stepping stones along your life's journey, propelling you out of your comfort zone and pushing you to embrace new adventures. They serve as guiding hands, helping you grow, learn, and evolve into a better version of yourself.

And finally, there are the goodbyes that liberate you, like setting adrift a paper boat on a tranquil stream. These goodbyes, while tinged with sadness and a sense of loss, open up space in your heart and life for new beginnings and new experiences. It’s just like clearing out the clutter in your room, getting rid of stuff that's been taking up too much space for too long. They are the goodbyes that release you from the shackles of the past, allowing you to spread your wings and explore uncharted horizons.

In the end, goodbyes come in all shapes and sizes. Some bring tears, some make you tougher, and some just help you breathe a little easier, making space for whatever comes next.

[tipsytruths]

It's funny how we move in this vast, bustling world without ever truly understanding the depths of one another's pain and suffering. We may stand side by side with someone, sharing the same physical space, yet remain oblivious to the silent torment that ravages their soul.

It's easy to forget that each person is a universe unto themselves, with secrets locked away and pains buried deep. Beneath the seemingly stoic exterior, they may be fragmented, pieces shattered, but their shattered fragments are hidden from prying eyes.

I guess, it’s the beauty of our human existence, the enigmatic riddle of our collective stories. We may exchange words, gestures, and even moments of vulnerability, but the intricacies of our inner battles often elude even the most perceptive ones. Our pain remains a secret garden, concealed beneath the bright blooms we present to the world.

The human experience is a paradox, where the most profound pain can exist in the shadows, covered in an opaque veil of resilience and fortitude. The truth is, we can never truly understand the magnitude of one another's suffering. Yet, in our shared anonymity, we also find the potential for empathy—that rare gift of understanding that holds the power to peel back the layers of pretense.

Perhaps the most meaningful connections are often those where we dare to venture beyond the surface, where we seek to unravel the mystery of another's pain, offering a safe harbor for their unspoken sorrows, and understanding that beneath every facade, there's a story waiting to be heard—a pain that longs to be acknowledged.

[tipsytruths]

Swipe

In the muted glow of my phone screen, I find myself trapped in a dull, lonely world where every swipe is a painful reminder of the void in my life. It's a profound sadness that wells up with each motion of my finger, reminding me of yet another failure in the realm of modern romance. It's a kind of loneliness that permeates every part of me as I scroll through seemingly endless profiles, searching for a connection that has remained elusive.

Blame has become my silent companion, and I often circle back to the end of my last relationship, inculpating it as the main reason why I ended up here in this digital indifferent maze. Perhaps our break up has left an indelible mark on my self-esteem; it's as if my heartache birthed this cycle of endless swiping, and these dating apps have become a double-edged sword, both a balm and a poison to my wounded ego. Now it seems like I'm on a perpetual quest to prove that I'm still desirable, that my break up didn't strip me of my worth.

But with every match that doesn't materialize into a meaningful connection, I feel a pang of despair, as if my worth has dwindled into nothingness. Each unrequited match chips away at my self-esteem, leaving me to grapple with the haunting question of whether I'm truly appealing to anyone at all. Yet, I can't seem to stop, as if an invisible force compels me to continue. Perhaps, I yearn for someone's attention, someone to validate my existence, to reassure me that I am still lovable, even after the heartbreak that tore me apart.

In this virtual world, where the relentless pursuit of validation through mediums that often devalues genuine human connection, where swipes and likes have become the currency of affection, I find myself lost, desperately seeking an anchor for my fragile self-esteem. The more I seek affirmation from strangers, the lonelier I become in the real world.

But still, I persist, swiping and swiping, in the hopes that one day, someone will see beyond the facade, beyond the haphazardly curated photos, and offer the genuine connection I so desperately crave. This journey through the digital wilderness has become a reflection of my inner turmoil, where every swipe is a reminder that I long for more than just a fleeting moment of attention; I yearn for a love that can heal the wounds of my past and make me feel truly alive once more.

[tipsytruths]

I want things to be different. I desperately do.

I’ve always held out hope that we would find a way if we just tried hard enough. If we fought hard enough. If we gave it everything we had. I mean, doesn’t the universe honor that–if two people are willing to risk so much to be together?

That’s not the case, though. Because some things don’t work, even if you believe wholeheartedly that they should.

Everything in my bones screams at me that maybe there is another chance for us out there. I would love to cling to that idea. If I did, then I could reach out to you again, without hesitation, to bring that chance to life. Yet the sadness and finality of everything sits on my chest like a dead weight.

We aren’t meant for each other.

If we were, then I would’ve sacrificed everything when I had the chance. If we were, you wouldn’t have looked to other people to fill the space I held. If we were, you would’ve told me how you felt when it made sense to. If we were, I would’ve told you how I felt, even if it meant scaring you a little.

There are memories and moments where I understand why I felt so sure about us. Our genuine connection, the ease in which we opened up to each other, our chemistry that made everything feel as if it were on fire. Those tender moments when we held onto each other, silent promises that one day we’d figure it all out.

I remember the endless circles we went around, how we called them learning experiences instead of bad habits. We would always say we would do better in the future, that we had our whole lives to figure this out. But I can’t spend the rest of my life being dizzy, even if it’s with you.

I miss you more than you could ever realize. I still pick up the phone, ready to text you about something that happened. I still ache when our friends mention your name, and I want to reach out. I think about you more often than I would care to admit–to myself or anyone else.

I know it’s okay to miss you because whatever we had was strong and beautiful. To pretend like I don’t miss you would be a disservice to everything we went through. Yet I’m finally in a place where I know that missing you isn’t a sign to try again. It’s a sign that we had a great thing. That’s it, that’s all.

So please know that I miss you, but I do understand we aren’t meant for each other.

But I’ll still remember us for the rest of my life–and I will learn to be okay with that.

[tipsytruths]

Bittersweet

And yet, you managed to paint vivid splashes of color across my otherwise dull canvas. You were the unexpected gust of wind that smoothed the tousled strands of my life, a sublime interference I wasn’t able to resist. Despite my best efforts to guard my heart, you effortlessly slipped past my defenses, leaving behind a trail of warmth and laughter.

Together, we embarked on a journey, unraveling the intricacies of our beings, uncovering each other's hidden facets—all those stories concealed behind every scar. You became more than just a passing figure in my life; you became an integral chapter, etched deeply within the pages of my existence. Mornings became sweeter with your greetings, nights more peaceful with your whispered good nights. You became the unwavering punctuation, an ellipsis that holds the promise of the unwritten chapters that stretched before us.

But suddenly, an anticlimactic twist has come in our story—the abrupt parting, the act of reluctantly placing memories on a shelf and the process of allowing things to be what they were meant to be. This parting was always on the horizon though, lurking in the back of my mind, but I deliberately chose to live in the present. I refused to anticipate the pain that was sure to come when we parted ways. But now, as the moment finally arrived, I can no longer deny the quiet ache that persistently creeps in.

Perhaps some people possess the ability to detach effortlessly, to sever emotional ties with the finesse of a seasoned surgeon. But my heart refuses to conform to such detachment. Every connection forged with you is a seed planted, inevitably blossoming into a garden of emotions that I can't help but nurture.

My mind, however, possesses the uncanny ability to detach effortlessly—a skill honed involuntarily through the countless heartaches endured. Ergo my mind always has the final say, despite my heart's resistance.

My mind strums a rational melody while my heart hums a fervent tune. My mind's detachment becomes a shield, protecting me from the aftermath, yet, it's not a fortress impervious to the echoes of yearning or the whispers of what-ifs in my heart.

So, I find myself in this perpetual tug-of-war, caught between the sovereignty of reason and the insurgency of emotion. It's a delicate dance between vulnerability and strength, an intricate balance that often leaves me teetering on the edge of emotional precipices.

And now, as the tides of time pull us apart, the what once was an imminent farewell looming on the horizon finally turned into an inevitable storm. I always knew this bliss was transient and had an expiration date, a bitter truth concealed behind the enchanting facade of our shared moments. But I chose to revel in the present, in the fleeting beauty of what we had, shielding myself from the impending ache that now grips my chest. Our parting feels like the unraveling of a carefully woven shroud, leaving behind a bittersweet trail of memories that I'm not quite ready to let go of.

Though saying goodbye is hard, I wouldn't trade our shared moments for anything. These memories will forever be etched in my heart, a testament to the beautiful journey we embarked on and the pain that came with letting you go.

[tipsytruths]

How To Be The One Who Can Let Go

You are in a relationship you think would last forever. You are living your dream of an epic romance. You are happy, contented, then suddenly, it’s over.

It may have come out of the blue, or after a few episodes of petty fights, perhaps after finding out that you have been cheated on, or because of some crappy circumstance that pushed either of you to call the relationship off. Regardless of what reasons, life after a break­up can feel extremely terrible.

Gone are the days when you wake up to sweet messages; no more late night talks, surprises, dates, hugs, kisses. What’s left are memories and flashbacks that send stings to your chest – that bitter cold feeling that was once a feeling of fluttering butterflies.

You remember them in every corner of your crumpled life. You remember how you once felt so secured; the way they held you, the way they kissed you. You miss the way they laugh, the scent of their perfume, even the teensy mannerisms you’ve gotten used to. You remember the first time your lips met, their eyes when they say ‘ I Love You’, and the jitters you get the moment you feel their touch on your skin. Then you remember the way they left you; you sulk on that dark walkway, staring blankly at a distance, wounded, aching, and torn. Broken.

Life passes you in a blur and you wouldn’t mind. You see things in a tinge of black and white. You drag yourself out of bed each morning and find no reprieve in waking. Another morning alarm, another cup of coffee, another day in the office. You feel like things would never be the same without them. You lie awake at night, getting yourself drunk with the “what if’s”, the “could haves” and the “would haves”. And it seems like programmed in loops and cycles that could go on forever.

You are trapped in an emotional limbo. You’ve become emotionally impotent, empty. You’ve unwittingly built walls around your heart fortified with barbed­ wires and mortars and landmines to fend off outsiders. You find it hard to trust people. You respond to emotional intrusions like antibodies fighting off common viruses. You learn how to diagnose symptoms of repeated pain to fight and protect yourself from its reoccurrence. You shut yourself off from boundless risks and possibilities of harm, rejection, heartbreak, and betrayal.

You reject love and the idea of it.

But you’re not scared of love itself – you are scared of being happy, but being alone; the ups, the downs, the twists and the turns that come along with caring about someone. You define things based on your experiences of love in the past, like a queue of boxes labeled with “good” or “bad” or “safe” or “unsafe”. And you feel invincible by shunning people away, which apparently has become a habit, a reflex, an automatic involuntary response. You look out for patterns to anticipate emotional disasters while subconsciously pushing people away to prevent them from inflicting unwarranted injuries. You decide that love is not for you and that you don’t need it anymore. And you’ll never allow yourself to be hurt again­ ever.

And when someone comes along at a time they are least expected, you find reasons to keep yourself away because you are afraid of the feelings that is your own. You know that love and life is all about taking chances, but you’re terrified to take risks — because you know that giving yourself the chance to be happy and exposing yourself up to the infinite possibilities of love and life – a gain – is not damn easy, and that you’ve learned it the hard way.

A failed relationship means it wasn’t meant to be. It belongs to the past – and often a difficult notion to accept. But soon you will realize that by rejecting love, you only hurt yourself more. While you may strongly believe yourself that you are over with it, truth is you’re holding on to their memory. You are cultivating emotions that prevent you from moving on. You continue bringing the past into your present and you’re unconsciously creating a future similar to your past.

So, let go.

It doesn’t matter how long it will take you to get back on your feet – a couple of months, perhaps a year or two. What’s important now is you understand how to love again and to never repeat the same mistakes. Experience is what you get when you fail at some point. You didn’t stop driving around a bicycle because you fell down many times when you were a kid, did you?

You wouldn’t know what real happiness is if you don’t understand pain. You wouldn’t know what true love means if you don’t understand how it’s like having a broken heart.

Opening your heart once again is opening yourself to possibilities of harm. And only by letting yourself accept that you still love them, will you be able to liberate them from your thoughts, from your heart, from your life. Strange as it may sound, but clinging to your bitterness against your past only hinders you to move forward.

Allow yourself to feel and stop scrutinizing for signs, warnings, and explanations in all things; just let them be, go with the flow. You’ve always been told that time heals all wounds, so take your time, don’t rush. There will always be more love to find and more love to give. It’s about getting over the fear of getting hurt again. Because at the end of the day, it’s still about taking chances and taking a leap of faith.

It’s time to free up your excessive emotional data; time to clear cache and cookies. It’s about time to clean­up the diminutive pixels of their existence from your system, or perhaps a total emotional reboot. This time, you’re as good as new, like a clean canvas, or an unspoiled chapters of an unopened book, or a blank DVD waiting to be filled with new set of romantic algorithms.

Don’t give up on love just yet; it’s time to press the reboot button – for a fresh start, a new beginning, and you’ll see that nothing can possibly be more liberating.

[tipsytruths]

Saudade

I often find myself longing for that little boy, the one whose dreams danced with the wind, untamed by the constraints of reality. He was a believer in a world painted with limitless colors, where the skies were not just blue but an ever-shifting canvas of possibilities. Back then, the horizon was not a boundary but an invitation to explore the uncharted, to embrace the unknown with open arms.

In the innocence of his gaze, there was a sparkle that echoed hope, a hope that knew no boundaries, no limitations, and no shadows. His heart was a pure vessel, untouched by the callous hands of disappointment, unscathed by the scars that time etches on the soul. It was a heart that beat to the rhythm of boundless optimism, a rhythm that echoed through every step, every leap, every laughter that resonated through the world he saw.

Oh, how I miss that little boy, whose laughter bubbled like a spring of joy, whose eyes reflected the magic of the universe, and whose spirit soared with the wings of imagination. He was the bearer of a light that illuminated even the darkest corners, the kind that made shadows quiver and doubt dissolve. He painted the world with his fantasies, sculpting castles from the clouds and weaving tales from the whispers of the trees. The world was a canvas, and he held the brush, ready to paint his story with every hue of imagination. There were no boundaries to what he could achieve, and he felt invincible, as if he could touch the moon and pull it closer to share secrets with the stars.

Now, as the threads weave together the complexities of life, I find myself yearning for the simplicity of that little boy's unbroken heart, for the audacity of those dreams that knew no limits. In those fleeting moments, when I close my eyes and listen to the symphony of my soul, I hear his voice resonating within, a gentle reminder that the spirit of that little boy still flickers within me, a timeless spark of resilience, of creativity, waiting to be reignited. The dreams may have been tempered by life's experiences, but they remain, patiently waiting for a chance to soar once more. The heart, though scarred by time, still beats with resilience, ready to embrace the limitless potential that life offers.

And so, I embrace him, that little boy within, and embark once more on the journey to rediscover the world where anything is possible.

[tipsytruths]

Evanescence

I can't help but let my mind wander into a maze of curious thoughts, wondering how the world would spin on without my footsteps stamping its surface. If I were to slip away, like a shadow melting into the dusk, how long would it be until they realized, until they noticed the absence of my laughter echoing in the corridors of their lives?

Would it take a day, a week, or a month for my vacant seat to catch their eye, for the hollow echo of my voice to resonate within their consciousness? Would they pause mid-sentence, suddenly struck by the silence that now fills the spaces where my stories used to dance, where my presence once painted the canvas of their everyday existence?

I ponder the moments that would unfold in my absence, the fleeting glances towards my empty seat, the unanswered texts left hanging in the digital void, the memories of shared moments gradually fading like an old photograph left out in the sun. Would they recall my face, my quirks, my idiosyncrasies, or would I become a ghostly figment, a whisper in the wind, a fragment of a bygone tale?

Would my vanishing be akin to a ripple in a vast ocean, or a jarring gap in the fabric of their universe? Would they speak of me in hushed tones, weaving stories to decipher my sudden departure? Or would I simply be a footnote in the ongoing saga of their lives, a passing character in the narrative of their collective memory?

As I toy with the idea of my own disappearance, I can't help but long for the reassurance that I am more than just a fleeting presence, more than a fleeting blip in the grand symphony of life. I wish to believe that my existence, however small it may seem, has woven itself into the hearts and minds of those around me, that my absence would leave an irreplaceable void, a testament to the connections forged in the intricate web of human experience.

But for now, I remain here, a silent spectator in the theater of my own musings, wondering about the fragility and resilience of the bonds that tie us together, the intricate threads that weave the fabric of our shared humanity.

I may never know the answer to the question that lingers in the back of my mind, but for now, I'll choose to be present, to be seen, and to leave my mark in the hearts of those who cross my path, for as long as I am here.