I always wanted to write about love…

I love writing and I always have. But I only write for myself. A piece of paper never judges me and it always listens to me. I don’t write for other people because I only write what I feel. I am afraid that they won’t understand it and I would never explain my writing because once it’s out there, it is out of my system, it doesn’t bother me anymore. Once written, that thought is free. So, I don’t hold myself back from writing; I hold myself back from sharing it.

I always wanted to write about love. I can’t. I have never been in love. Actually, I captured the feeling a little bit when I was a child, but this kind of love, I call innocence. We were two children on the same swing, sitting there for hours. I can remember the wind and the sunset but nothing else. I don’t know if we talked or if we just enjoyed the silence together. I never forgot him and I carried that moment for a long time. I have never told him about how I felt and I probably never will. I escaped the thought of him too long after that moment. It is funny to think about it now. How stubborn and how naive I could have been. I was so hopeful, I lived in that beautiful doubt for so many years. Every day hurt a little bit more than the one before. We were separated in space and changed in time. But one day I was struck by an idea: if I only saw him one more time, I will be free of him. So, I held on to that thought, although that meant the edge of the impossible.Years have passed by and the idea of him kept bothering me. One day, guess what? We met. Against all odds and in the most unexpected moment, years after. We were strangers and that’s how we remained. It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I am free now.

This has always been my secret. I have always held myself back from sharing it because I cared so much, because it was mine, because I treasured it. But now it is just a reminder of who I used to be. A reminder of a weakness that made me strong, that made me who I am now. I am not afraid of sharing it anymore. I will never know if he ever felt the same or if that moment even mattered for him, but I will always wonder: what if that connection was true? What if it was just in front of us and we ignored it just because we were afraid? So what’s holding me back from finding it out?

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This post is also available in: Romanian


  1. Eva Nguyen says:

    I love this article ❤ it was beautifully written and the innocence of this warms my hear. Keep it up!

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