“He wants to pretend this is all accidental, but for me, it isn’t a game. I haven’t simply let it happen. I’m falling because I jumped, and not because I tripped.”

― Megan Hart, Tear You Apart 

I recall the loud noise as the paper tore, resembling the harsh sound of rusted metal foil being cut by a damaged pair of scissors. I remember the scent of the ink that hadn’t yet dried, akin to the sharp smell of fresh paint on a damp bathtub, never given the chance to properly set. And I can still see that heap of torn letters strewn across the floor, resembling the shattered fragments of a soul belonging to someone who couldn’t sleep for nights, their thoughts consumed by their love.

I can envision living with the profound disappointment of something I never experienced. It’s difficult to imagine a more painful human emotion than heartache. It’s a feeling that’s beyond our control, rendering us helpless, weak, and utterly lost. It can be likened to a crack in a wall, allowing the wind to seep through, or water to trickle out. The only thing that can’t fit through that crack is the sun, and nothing can make the days brighter when your heart is shattered.

Similar to how water has the capacity to breathe life into a withered bean, my tears possessed the extraordinary ability to rouse and foster my development, as long as I continued to breathe in this world. As if conducting a symphony of emotions, these tears became the conductor of my rebirth. They weren’t just saline drops, but rather the essence of my resilience and my unwavering determination to forge ahead. While drenched in sorrow, these tears served as the life force behind my transformation. They were the rain that nurtured the dormant seeds of my spirit, coaxing them to sprout and grow, even amidst the most arid and challenging seasons of life. Each tear carried a story, a chapter in the book of my existence, and with every drop, I penned a new verse of strength and hope.

Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.”
― Steve Maraboli

In 1893, I met him, stepping into a world of days long past. A world where the symphony of horse-drawn carriages echoed through cobblestone streets, and the soft glow of gas lamps cast an enchanting ambiance over early evenings. Our meeting, it seemed, was touched by fate, transpiring during a time when the world itself was undergoing transformation. The lively conversations, the lingering looks, and the subtle connection of our hands etched a profound memory into my heart. But, as it turned out, our story was poised for an unforeseen twist.

In the midst of World War II, in 1943, I tragically lost him. The world had been utterly transformed, plunging into an era defined by profound uncertainty, unending sacrifices, and the weight of unimaginable losses. He was called to serve on a distant battlefield, and our letters became a fragile thread connecting our hearts, filled with words of affection and yearning. But one fateful day, the letters ceased to arrive. The news that eventually reached me was a devastating blow, and I found myself burdened with the anguish of a shattered heart, a poignant emblem of the countless dreams that were left broken during those trying times.

Fast forward to 2020, a year that carried its own set of distinctive trials and transformations. In the midst of a global pandemic, I found him. It was a moment that felt like a leap through the corridors of time. The world had undergone a profound metamorphosis, brimming with technological marvels and novel frontiers. We reconnected in a realm of video calls and digital letters. Our love, once buried in the annals of history, was reignited. It was as if the years in between had dissolved, granting us a sensation of belonging that I had believed to be lost forever. Through this unexpected reunion, I realized that love could indeed be timeless, extending across decades and defying the constraints of fate.

“There you go…let it all slide out. Unhappiness can’t stick in a person’s soul when it’s slick with tears.”
― Shannon Hale

– Can you love someone that you never met before?

– Indeed, I would sigh in agreement, for there’s no such notion as never having met. In the grand tapestry of existence, our threads have intertwined in countless lifetimes and innumerable moments. Countless nights and days were spent yearning for him, etching the graceful curve of his smile onto the canvas of my dreams. Each morning unfurled with a silent prayer to witness the long-awaited moment when our paths would decisively cross. My hands would turn clammy, and my heart orchestrated symphonies of longing when the phone’s ring heralded the arrival of his voice, a sweet promise of his future kiss. I savored my morning coffee, its bittersweet taste akin to the tender anticipation of his lips upon mine. The day we serendipitously encountered each other in the lively city, his eyes gleamed with curiosity and radiated a captivating brilliance. His presence wasn’t confined to the actualization of our shared moments, for he was there in the quiet elation of my life’s highs and the silent heartaches that drew my tears. Even in the embrace of others, his memory lingered, an unbidden companion to my thoughts. I embarked on a literary journey, my eyes skimming countless pages, to discover fragments of his wisdom within the verses of books. I devoured films and absorbed songs, seeking the cadence of his tranquil words. My feelings, I must admit, took root long before our physical trajectories met. His love, an enigmatic force, had the power to rend me asunder and yet keep me steadfastly alive, even when all hope seemed to fade. He embodied the hope I cradled in the deepest recesses of my fractured soul, the purest love I’d ever before tasted, a fire that kindled my heart’s desires, and the dearest aspect of my human existence.

 “How could I have lived my entire life without knowing this man? His eyes are gray and green, and I smooth my fingertips over the arches of his brows. I touch the sleekness of the hair that falls in front of his ears.”

― Megan Hart, Tear You Apart

As I traced the contours of his face, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had traversed the entirety of my existence without the knowledge of this man’s existence. His eyes, like a tempestuous sea, held worlds within them. My fingers danced gently over the rise of his brows, and I marveled at the intricate strands of hair that framed his face, their silkiness a testament to the depth of this newfound connection. How was it possible that our paths had never crossed before, that I had missed out on these moments of shared discovery? In the soft caress of his skin, I found not only the tactile joys of this newfound intimacy but also the profound realization that some meetings are written in the stars, waiting for the perfect moment to unveil themselves.

“She was a free bird one minute: queen of the world and laughing. The next minute she would be in tears like a porcelain angel, about to teeter, fall and break. She never cried because she was afraid that something ‘would’ happen; she would cry because she feared something that could render the world more beautiful, ‘would not’ happen.”
― Roman Payne

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