Journal: Two Weeks in Love
It began like a spark I didn’t expect, one glance, and suddenly butterflies I thought I had outgrown were back. With that presence near me, I felt younger, like life had quietly handed me back a piece of my lost youth. The joy was raw, almost frightening in its intensity. Since then, I’ve been walking around carrying this storm inside me. I think of it every minute, on the road, at work, even when I’m trying to focus elsewhere. Yet my hands stay tied. I can’t speak, can’t reach out. That helplessness stings, but it also makes the feeling burn brighter. When it ended, I felt unfinished. No closure. Nothing was spoken, nothing asked. I walked away carrying silence as much as I carried love. That silence has been heavy. So I poured it out in words instead, poems, notes, quiet whispers meant only for a blog page or for myself. In them, I spoke indirectly: “You know I’m talking about you. Reach for me.” In them, I captured the strangeness of love, how it makes you restless, yet gives j...
