There’s a quote people often use after a love ends:
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
And while I understand why people say it, I want to offer something truer—something deeper.
I’m not smiling because this didn’t hurt.
I’m smiling because for a while… I experienced something rare.
Something sacred.
Something so real it still echoes in my body.
And even though it’s over, I am not broken.
I am grateful.
It Didn’t Begin With Fireworks
It didn’t begin dramatically.
No grand entrance.
It began the way the most meaningful things often do—quietly… as friends.
Two people finding comfort in conversation.
Two souls recognizing something familiar in each other.
Two hearts that weren’t looking for love, but somehow found refuge.
And from the beginning, what he gave me wasn’t just attention.
It was kindness.
It was compassion.
It was grace.
He became an anchor for me in a season where I was still learning how to breathe again—where my heart had been cracked open by life, by loss, by the weight of everything I had carried alone for far too long.
And he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t try to fix me with empty words.
He didn’t rush my healing.
He didn’t ask me to be less emotional, less intense, less me.
Instead… he held space for my humanity.
He took the scattered pieces of my broken heart—the parts I thought could never be whole again—and with patience and gentleness, he helped me piece it back together.
Not by forcing it.
Not by demanding more than I had to give.
But by simply being there.
Consistently.
Softly.
Honestly.
And through that steady presence—through that friendship—I started to remember who I was beneath the pain. I found the inner strength to face life as a single mom, and I finally learned how to give myself grace.
He Saw Me
What made it different was this:
He truly saw me.
Not the version I presented to the world.
Not the polished version.
Not the “I’m fine” version.
He saw me in the raw, unfiltered moments—sad, tired, overwhelmed, uncertain… imperfect.
And when everyone else walked away, he stayed.
He cared.
He showed up.
He held me.
He made it safe for me to be human.
And I think that’s one of the purest forms of love there is—
the kind that doesn’t ask you to perform to be worthy of tenderness.
And I Saw Him Too
And I gave him the same.
Because in him, I didn’t just see the roles he carried or the responsibilities he shouldered.
I didn’t just see the armour he wore when he thought he had to be strong.
I saw him.
Completely.
And one of the most beautiful things I saw—the thing that radiated from him without him even trying—was the love he has for his kids.
It wasn’t performative.
It wasn’t for praise.
It was instinct.
He put them first—always.
Even when he was running on empty.
I watched how deeply he carried them, how his heart softened every time their names came up. That kind of love doesn’t come from obligation. It comes from devotion.
But I also saw the quiet ache behind it.
I saw how often he felt unseen.
Unloved.
Like he didn’t matter.
Like his voice was inconvenient.
Like he had to be everything for everyone while slowly losing himself in the process.
And with me… I never wanted him to feel that way again.
I didn’t judge him.
I didn’t ask him to be perfect.
I didn’t need him to prove anything.
I just wanted him to know—in the most steady, certain way—that he was seen.
That he mattered.
Not just as a provider.
Not just as a father.
But as a man with a heart of his own—deserving of tenderness, care, and love.
With us there was no pretending.
No mask.
No strategy.
No attempt to control the narrative.
Just two people showing up exactly as we were.
He Brought Me Back to Life
He brought me joy—the kind that doesn’t need permission.
He made me laugh so hard I forgot what it felt like to be lonely.
He made ordinary moments feel like magic—like we were stealing seconds from time itself.
He brought light into my tired corners.
And maybe that’s what love is in the end:
not just passion,
not just romance,
but the miracle of being seen—
and still adored.
We Found Each Other Anyway
Our love took us both by surprise.
It wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t convenient.
The timing was impossible.
But somehow, in a season where everything felt impossible…
we found each other.
We fell in love in a hopeless place—not because life was easy, but because the connection was undeniable.
A Love I Refuse to Call a Mistake
Some loves aren’t just relationships.
They’re awakenings.
This wasn’t a love built from flirting, games, or simple attraction.
Getting to know each other on a deeper level felt like recognition—like I had known him in another time and space… and somehow, against every odd, we collided in this lifetime for a short while.
Like the universe knew and brought us together again.
It whispered: Take this. Even if just for a little while.
And we did.
What we had was pure euphoria.
There are people who live their whole lives never knowing that feeling—
the feeling of being home in someone’s arms,
the feeling of safety in their silence,
the feeling of being understood without explanation,
the deep love you see in each other’s eyes that touches the deepest parts of the soul.
We had that.
And because we did… I refuse to call this love a tragedy.
Or a mistake.
Some Loves Don’t End — They Transform
Even if our paths can’t stay intertwined the way our hearts wanted,
I believe we will always carry each other.
In our hearts.
In our souls.
In the quiet ways we will measure love forever after.
This kind of love doesn’t disappear.
It becomes part of you—stitched into your spirit.
And I know this with the kind of certainty you don’t have to defend:
we will seek each other out in the next lifetime,
and the next.
Because some souls don’t forget.
And who knows—
maybe then the timing and circumstances will finally align.
Releasing Him With Love
So this is me… releasing him.
Not with anger.
Not with bitterness.
Not with resentment.
But with love so real it doesn’t need to possess.
I release him with gratitude for every moment he gave me—for the way he held me, restored me, and reminded me what it feels like to be safe in someone’s arms.
I release him without rewriting the story.
Without twisting it into something ugly just to make it easier to let go.
Because the truth is simple:
He loved me well.
And I loved him well too.
And even if we can’t walk side by side right now,
I will always carry him gently—
in the quiet parts of my heart
where only the purest love lives.
Some people are not meant to stay forever…
but they are meant to change you forever.
And he did.
This love will always be one of the most beautiful parts of my life.
Christine
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