I don’t want to write about love. It’s a thorn in my side, a wound that refuses to heal. I don’t want to reminisce about the days when love was a warm embrace, a gentle whisper in the dark. Too many tears have stained my pillow, too many dreams have turned to dust.

I don’t want to tell you about the moments when love was a beacon of hope, a spark in the darkness. How it could consume me, overwhelm me, leaving me breathless and dizzy with emotion. How it could make me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

No, I don’t want to write about love. Because love for me was once a wild, untamed thing, as fierce and unpredictable as the ocean. It was as beautiful as a sunset, as mesmerizing as the night sky. But now, it’s just a memory, a ghost that haunts me in the quiet moments of the night.

So, I’ll write about anything else. I’ll write about the stars, the moon, the way the wind whispers through the trees. But I won’t write about love. Not anymore…😔

© Beatriz Esmer