<p>Dear Mr. Bosleyig,
</p><p>That first day when we talked for hours on end, about everything, remains a memorable day for my life. The beauty of lying side by side was unforgettable. Sharing stories of my youth and childhood was intimate and freeing. Like a wounded puppy, you were careful, and yet, the tempo was building.
</p><p>One smile, one beat of my frozen heart, and you came alive. There wasn't any time to be coy, no need for masks, no need to be anyone but yourself. Like a budding flower on cue, you flourished before my eyes, holding me captive with your fragrant intelligence and wholesome humour. I got caught in the nectar that is your world.
</p><p>Every day, you challenged me. You nudged me to that painful spot beyond my limit, out of the cradle, into optimism, then you stood back and watched me bloom. Together, we were the coolest Sea, and the hottest Molten oil.
</p><p>In my heart, I waded through the fog that seemed to shroud parts of your mind. You looked at yourself and saw nothing. You were being too hard on yourself, but your focus didn't waver. To free you from that bondage, I became. I moulded my mind into your cure, and even when I flailed lethargically, the strength of your hand in mine muddled us through.
</p><p>Love like ours is the muse of great writers. Our love was pure, direct, and it found purpose. It did not bow to opinions and horrid judgements. I didn't doubt its loyalty or allegiance, even for a day.
</p><p>I was that soothing flame, burning hot and running through you, melding together every broken piece, whether I wanted to or not. Now, in your absence, I see every blip, feel every point where you grazed my frozen heart, warmed me, completed me.
</p><p>In your self-imposed exile, my light has dimmed considerably. The stories would say we met at an ill-fated time. Maybe my stars did not align with yours, or the moon was not as full on that very first night, but I had never believed in fate. Today, I am the bearer of its burdens, bathed in my own tears, and positively drowning you in it too.
</p><p><img src="/media/inline_insight_image/LOST LOVE 2.jpg"></p><p>I stare at the closed door, now sitting pretty between our fiercely cradled hearts, with feelings that we didn't forge on either side. One grappling with courage to reach out, the other with paralyzing fear.</p><p>You called it self-preservation, but it was your presence in my life that rooted me and made me whole. Beneath the pain, beneath the sorrow, I know this is a fate made for tears. When there was no rain to hide my tears, I showered more, the running water masking my most hideous streams.
</p><p>I relied on you for a lot of peace, but the turmoil I feel reeks of Love's sweet fragrance. Now, Love has become something to heal from.
</p><p>Tell me, do you smile without feeling that pain in your heart? Does your heart not still skip a beat when I walk in and out of a room? Has my smile ceased to wake yours from the depths of locked longing?
</p><p>How can you sit there and not know that I am breaking inside from a week of silence? You have completely shut me out, and your doors have felt the impact of my bleeding fists, scraped raw from banging on your iron barricades, clawing at the thick layer of distance, hoping to break through.
</p><p>Still, I will stand here bloodied, aching, and waiting—for you to let me in again.
</p><p><br></p><p>With Love,</p><p>A heart You're breaking.</p><p><img src="/media/inline_insight_image/LOST LOVE 3.jpeg" alt=""></p><p><br></p>
LETTER FROM A BROKEN HEART
By
Chidera Odom