Tonight was a hard night. I made the decision to fully reclaim my love and devotion, after pouring it into someone who couldn’t fully hold it. She was never going to choose me. And still, I gave her everything I had.
But I see now; it wasn't about being chosen. It was about choosing to love with every fucking fibre in my being. And remembering that I am the one who holds the fire.
That love was real. And I don’t regret offering it. Not for one second.
Don’t get me wrong—I caught a glimpse of the man I am becoming. A man who can love fiercely and deeply. A man who can drop into presence when the moment calls for tenderness and stillness.
But still, my heart fucking aches with grief. Not just for her, but for the part of me that kept waiting, as if devotion alone would make me worthy of being met. In the end it isn’t timing, history, compatibility, or attraction that matters most. It’s the decision to choose—to love. And years ago, I made the conscious decision to love this woman, and I did so bravely. Over and over again, I asked what love would have me do, and I listened and honoured the answer.
Maybe that’s the fucking lesson.
That my love was never meant to be contained by someone who couldn’t meet it. At least not in the way my heart hoped for.
So tonight, I take back every ounce of longing I wrapped around her name. And I return it to my chest, my breath, and my fucking blood and bones.
What I gave wasn’t wasted. Because it revealed me to myself. The man who does not run from love when it’s fucking complicated. Who owns his fucking wounds like a warrior hellbent on reclaiming what was always his.
So tonight, I bow to the grief. I lay down my sword, and surrender to the pain of loss.
Let it strip the fantasy. Let it burn the illusion that I ever had to earn love.
As God as my witness, love is part of my marrow, and nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, will ever take that away from me.
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