The Kind Of Love
This is the kind of love I once believed I enjoyed the most, a woman nearing thirty four, six years married, yet without children, and perhaps without the desire for them at all.
Six years of marriage, and now for the first time, we no longer live under the same roof. We chose to let go, quietly, without spectacle. I see my husband once a week sometimes twice, occasionally three times, but never regularly. We meet, we share a bed, and somehow, that has become enough. Every day, he sends me messages: Good morning. Have you eaten? Take care. I love you so much.
I reply to each one. I even say I love you too. But the words feel empty.
The love I once knew is no longer there.
Did it disappear overnight? No. Love doesn't vanish like that. It fades slowly, almost gently until one day you realize it has been gone for quite some time. This was the person who once held me together, my shoulder to cry on, my safe place, the one who listened to every story, every fear, every piece of me.
Our relationship was stable, but it was no longer growing. I stopped seeing effort and began noticing only the red flags I once ignored. And so, I chose this distance between us this quiet, undefined space we now call our marriage.
Am I happy? Sometimes. But not always. There are nights that feel heavier than others, when silence presses a little too hard. Still, I am proud of who I have become no longer chasing, no longer begging for attention, no longer consumed by possessiveness.
Maybe this is the kind of love we thought we wanted one where we are free to do as we please, untouched by drama, unbound by expectations. But freedom...
I've learned, can sometimes feel just as lonely as loss.
YOU ARE READING
The Kind Of Love
Non-Fictionstanding at the edge of the ocean-close enough to feel the waves, but never brave enough to dive in. Because to me, love wasn't something you trust. It was something you survive.
