Vision of life

Grieving a love

A love story is so intense that when it ends (even when it never started), you have to mourn it…

Grieving, Photo by Karim MANJRA on Unsplash


For me, the shock was not as brutal as a death. He was going to leave, I knew it for a long time. Like a long illness, I enjoyed him until it was time to say goodbye.

When he left, I should have accepted it, yes, it was over.


But life would be too easy if we could erase all our feelings with an eraser.

Yes, my brain knew it, yes the experience proved to me that you can’t believe in a story like this. Of course I had seen the signs, of course I was aware that I was much more attached than the young man in question… But the heart has its reasons that the reason ignores.

I had him under my skin, that’s all. So I denied it, I denied the unanswered messages, I denied the increasingly distant phone calls, I denied the fact that my life was on pause when his seemed to have taken a new turn.

Of course we would see each other again, my heart was screaming its hope to me. My libido was defeated, I was willing to wait until my visit to Georgia.

Would he be happy to welcome me? Of course he would, why wouldn’t he?


I had little feeling of anger. Come on, okay, when he didn’t answer for several hours, I cursed him, I stomped. I was mostly angry at myself, what did I expect? A bad texter stays a bad texter no matter what.

I was and still am angry at myself for believing in an afterthought. It was childish and naive. As if all the moldy stories beforehand hadn’t taught me a lesson… If I should be angry, it’s at me, and at the universe, which never wants to place viable boys in my path!!!


The anxiety of never seeing him again is nagging me. How will I be able to love someone else?

I am so afraid that I will not feel that same intensity of feeling. He can’t disappear, if he disappears, he will take my heart and libido with him. But who am I without them?

And then I’m afraid to sleep with someone else again… I know the sex will probably be mediocre, I’ll be disappointed… Argh, if he disappears, I’ll become a nun, for sure.


No, it’s not over. First of all, we’re still in touch. We call each other, and then… We write to each other, well okay I write, I write and I write and he answers. But he hasn’t cut off contact.

No, I don’t force the answers at all… 4 audios in one hour… What? Too many? Pfffff….

I’m going to surprise him, I’m going to stop by Georgia on my way home. Oh for his birthday, what a great idea.

With that, of course the story will continue.


And then the real shock came. Yes, it was over before, but I was kidding myself.

But when he told me, “I’ve been seeing someone for a week,” there was no longer any question, there was no way to escape reality anymore, impossible… it was time to admit, Ben and I, it’s never going to happen. In seven words, he killed my inner cupid, he cut the tenuous threads of hope with the scissors.

He won’t be my prince charming. Goodbye, goodbye dreams of a romantic life in Georgia, Vietnam, Italy or France with my beautiful bearded man.

My tears waited for his voice to disappear on the other side of the world, and they poured out their torrent. No break for the little drops of salty water, in one night, the equivalent of the Indian Ocean flooded my pillow.

In the early morning, it is exhausted and dehydrated that I mechanically went to work. There were moments when I fought tears, other moments when I just felt desperately empty.

Like a balloon that had been punctured, I hung around, my heart dry. I wanted to write to him, to tell him about my life, my doubts, but I had to cut this link. So I struggled.


He finally wrote me a little explanation. It felt good to read his own words, to understand, to know that it was lost anyway.

I felt a deep friendship when I read his message. With kindness, I replied, you can’t blame someone for not loving you, just as they can’t blame me for loving them too much.

My life in Noosa became a little more fleshed out, I started to work a lot, and to finally see the prospect of going home.

I explored my little inner voices and paths, and I started not to think about him. Not as often. Not writing became natural, the torture was over. And it felt good.


That’s it, the grieving is over. It really lasted more than two and a half months.

Today, I am liberated… And my libido is back… 😉

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