《Letters to a Love Lost》 Chapter 1: When Everything Began The Moment I Met Her The moment I met her wasn¡¯t extraordinary. There were no dazzling lights, no invisible violin playing to announce her arrival. But now, looking back, I realize it was the moment my world began to spin in a completely new direction, one that would change everything. It was an ordinary afternoon in an ordinary park. Leaves fell in slow spirals from the trees, and the air smelled of damp earth after a light morning rain. I was sitting on a bench with an open book in my hands, though I wasn¡¯t really reading. My eyes wandered across the horizon, trapped in the monotony of days that seemed endless. And then, I saw her. Astrid walked with such natural grace that she seemed completely unaware of her own beauty. Her hair fell in soft cascades over her shoulders, and her eyes, warm and serene, seemed to hold entire universes. There was something about her presence that made everything else fade into the background. In that moment, I had the strange sense that something important had just happened, though I couldn¡¯t explain why. Instinctively, my mind drifted to the myth of Eurydice. The woman Orpheus loved so much that he ventured into the underworld to bring her back. It made no sense, but something about Astrid¡ªabout the way she existed¡ªmade me think she was my own Eurydice. It was an absurd and premature comparison, but I couldn¡¯t help it. There was something about her that felt destined to change me. Astrid held a notebook in her hands and seemed absorbed, as if the rest of the world didn¡¯t exist. I wondered what she was writing¡ªscattered thoughts, perhaps, or something more deliberate, like a poem. For a moment, I hesitated to approach her, afraid of breaking the bubble that surrounded her, but something in me pushed forward. Maybe it was the small, almost shy smile that appeared on her lips when she saw me. ------------------------- The First Encounter I don¡¯t know what made me talk to her. Maybe it was the sudden impulse to fill the emptiness that had been growing inside me, or maybe it was that smile¡ªit felt like an invitation. I walked toward her with more nervousness than I was willing to admit. ¡°Excuse me, may I sit here?¡± I asked, pointing to the bench where she had taken a seat.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Astrid looked up from her notebook, and for a moment, she seemed to weigh my intentions. Her gaze was calm but inquisitive, as if she were evaluating me. Then, she smiled again, and something about that smile made me feel as though I had won a small battle. ¡°Sure,¡± she replied softly. We sat in silence for a while. I didn¡¯t want to interrupt her¡ªshe seemed to be writing something important, and I didn¡¯t want to intrude. But then, as if I couldn¡¯t help myself, I asked: ¡°What are you writing?¡± Astrid hesitated for a moment before closing her notebook and turning toward me. ¡°Nothing important. Just thoughts I don¡¯t want to forget.¡± I stayed silent, processing her words. There was something about the way she said it that intrigued me, as if those thoughts were treasures only she could decipher. That answer was enough to open a portal. We started talking, cautiously at first and then with a natural ease that surprised me. We talked about books, music, and the park we were in. Her laughter was a soft, contagious sound, and the more we talked, the more I found myself drawn not just to what she said, but to how she said it. ------------------------- Love Blooms I don¡¯t know the exact moment I fell in love with her. Maybe it was the day she showed me her poems, or the night we spent talking under a starry sky, when she confessed her fears and dreams. Astrid had the ability to make the ordinary seem extraordinary, and I found myself wanting to be part of her world in every possible way. Our love wasn¡¯t immediate or passionate from the start. It was like a plant growing slowly, rooting itself deeply before emerging to the surface. But when it finally bloomed, it did so with an intensity that left me breathless. I remember one afternoon in particular, when we were at the park where we first met. She brought her notebook and showed me a poem. It was a mix of simple yet profound words, speaking of goodbyes and letting go. ¡°Is it autobiographical?¡± I asked her. She shook her head, but her eyes drifted back to the poem. ¡°No¡­ but I think every goodbye leaves something in you, even when it¡¯s not yours.¡± It was in that moment I realized Astrid saw the world in a way that was completely different from mine. What I overlooked, she found fascinating, even poetic. Astrid became my anchor and my inspiration. She was my reason to wake up every day, my refuge in a world that often felt chaotic and disheartening. And though I never told her directly, she must have known. I could see it in the way she looked at me, as if she could read everything my heart wanted to say but couldn¡¯t find the words for. ------------------------- A Love Full of Promises We spoke about our future as if it were certain, as if it were inevitable. We dreamed of travels, of projects together, of long, quiet days where nothing would matter more than each other¡¯s company. ¡°Do you think love can last forever?¡± she asked me one night as we lay on the grass, staring at the stars. ¡°If it¡¯s with you, yes,¡± I answered without hesitation. She didn¡¯t reply, but her smile, illuminated by the faint light of the moon, said it all. In that moment, I didn¡¯t know I was making a promise I wouldn¡¯t be able to keep. Chapter 2: Invisible Roots Love has curious ways of taking root in our lives. We don¡¯t always realize when it begins, and even less when it will grow. With Astrid, love wasn¡¯t a sudden explosion but a collection of small moments, like drops of water slowly filling a container until it overflows. We started spending more time together, not because we planned it, but because it simply felt inevitable. We¡¯d meet at the park, in small, quiet coffee shops, in bookstores where she could spend hours leafing through books without buying them. Each encounter was a discovery, a new piece of the puzzle that was Astrid. There was something about her that disarmed me. It wasn¡¯t just the way she spoke or how her eyes always seemed to search for what lay beyond the obvious. It was the way she moved through the world, as if everything was worthy of admiration, as if even the grayest days held a hint of hope if you knew where to look. ------------------------------ A Connection That Grew One afternoon, as we walked along a path covered in dry leaves, Astrid stopped suddenly. ¡°Look at this,¡± she said, pointing to a tree whose branches seemed to intertwine with those of another. ¡°What about them?¡± I asked, confused. ¡°It¡¯s like they¡¯re hugging, don¡¯t you think?¡± I laughed softly, but her expression was completely serious. ¡°No, really, look at them. Their roots are probably so tangled underground that they couldn¡¯t separate even if they tried.¡± Her voice was almost a whisper, but her words struck something deep within me. There was something about the way she said it that made me think of us, though I wasn¡¯t sure why. ¡°Do you think people can be like those trees?¡± I asked after a moment.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Astrid turned to me, her gaze piercing through me. ¡°Maybe. But that¡¯s not always a good thing. Sometimes, the roots get so tangled they end up choking each other.¡± Her words were as beautiful as they were unsettling. I kept thinking about them long after our walk ended, wondering if she was speaking from experience or if it was just another one of her poetic observations about life. ------------------------------ Discovering Her World Over time, Astrid began letting me into her world more openly. She showed me her collection of notebooks, filled with thoughts, poems, and sketches. There was something deeply intimate about those notebooks, as if I were seeing a part of her no one else had. ¡°This one¡¯s my favorite,¡± she said one afternoon, pointing to a drawing of a tree whose roots extended far beyond what was visible. ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°Because it reminds me that there¡¯s always more beneath the surface.¡± That phrase stayed with me for a long time, and I think in that moment, I understood something fundamental about Astrid: she saw the world in a way I could never fully comprehend, and that only made me love her more. ------------------------------ The Fear of Losing Despite our connection, there was a latent fear in the back of my mind¡ªa fear I couldn¡¯t name but that was always there. Maybe it was the feeling that something this good couldn¡¯t last, or maybe it was my own insecurity, my own sense of not being enough for someone like Astrid. One night, as we sat on my couch, talking about everything and nothing, I decided to be honest with her. ¡°Sometimes I feel like I¡¯m going to lose you,¡± I said, not looking directly at her. Astrid remained silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. ¡°You can¡¯t lose something you already have.¡± I wanted to believe her, but part of me knew it wasn¡¯t that simple. Love, no matter how deep, always carries with it the possibility of loss. ------------------------------ The Myth Made Real It was during one of our late-night conversations that I told her about the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. I don¡¯t know why I brought it up¡ªmaybe because I had already associated her with Eurydice in my mind, though I had never told her that directly. ¡°I¡¯ve always thought it was a beautiful yet tragic story,¡± I said. Astrid looked at me with curiosity. ¡°Why tragic? Orpheus loved her so much he was willing to face the gods for her.¡± ¡°Yes, but in the end, he lost her,¡± I replied. Astrid grew pensive, and then she said something I¡¯ll never forget: ¡°Maybe it wasn¡¯t about getting her back. Maybe it was about what he was willing to do for love.¡± That night, as I watched her fall asleep beside me, I thought there was nothing in the world I wouldn¡¯t do for her. But what I didn¡¯t know then was that, like Orpheus, my own actions would be what tore us apart. Chapter 3: Echoes of a Reflection Love has a peculiar way of getting caught in reflections. In the puddles that shimmer after a storm, in the fogged windows of a caf¨¦, in the pupils of someone who will never dare to say what they truly feel. Astrid used to laugh when I talked about these things, saying I always looked for poetry where there was nothing but glass and water. ¡°You¡¯re like a broken mirror,¡± she told me once, as she turned her coffee cup between her hands. ¡°Broken? Is that good or bad?¡± I asked, pretending to be offended. ¡°It depends. Sometimes, a broken mirror reflects more things than a perfect one.¡± I never fully understood what she meant by that. Maybe Astrid saw something in me that I couldn¡¯t see myself. Now, looking back, I think the cracks she talked about were nothing more than my fears, the ones I never dared to face. My reflection was fractured because I hid behind my insecurities, my silences, my doubts. And in those cracks, Astrid found something that intrigued her¡ªsomething she perhaps wanted to fix. ------------------------------ A Journey Into the Past There was a place Astrid always insisted on taking me to. It was a small, hidden beach, far from tourist trails, where the waves crashed against the rocks with an almost violent force. ¡°This is my favorite place in the world,¡± she said, as she led me by the hand down the path to the shore. The wind blew hard, disheveling her hair and filling the air with the salty aroma of the sea. I could hear the roar of the waves in the distance, a raw and powerful sound that seemed to echo through my thoughts. ¡°Why here?¡± I asked her as we sat on a rock dampened by the sea breeze. Astrid stayed silent for a moment, gazing at the waves that relentlessly crashed against the rocks. ¡°Because here, I can be small.¡± Her words caught me off guard. ¡°Is that a good thing?¡± I asked. ¡°Sometimes it is. The world forces us to be big all the time, to carry things we can¡¯t always handle. Here, by the sea, I can be small.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I watched her profile as she spoke¡ªthe way her hair danced with the wind, the brightness in her eyes as they followed the waves. In that moment, I wanted to tell her she didn¡¯t need to carry anything alone, that I would be there to bear any weight life placed upon her. But the words got stuck in my throat, as if an invisible barrier kept me from being completely honest with her. The sea kept roaring, indifferent to my silences. ------------------------------ The Growing Fracture Over time, I realized there was something in me that always put distance between us, even when we were closer than ever. Maybe it was my fear of not being enough, or maybe it was the idea that a love as pure as Astrid¡¯s couldn¡¯t last. There were nights I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, while my mind repeated the same questions over and over. What did Astrid see in me? What kept her by my side? Her love was like a warm light that illuminated every dark corner of my soul, but instead of feeling grateful, I felt exposed. And that exposure terrified me. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡± she asked me one night, as we lay together, her head resting on my chest. I wanted to tell her the truth¡ªthat I was afraid she would someday realize I wasn¡¯t enough for her. But instead, I lied. ¡°Nothing important. I¡¯m just tired.¡± Astrid said nothing, but her fingers stopped drawing circles on my chest, and I felt something break between us¡ªsomething I hadn¡¯t even realized was there. Her silence weighed more than any words. ------------------------------ The Nickname Born From a Promise It was during one of our walks through the park that I finally told her what I had been thinking for weeks. ¡°Do you know who you remind me of?¡± I said as we walked along a path covered in dry leaves. ¡°Who?¡± she asked, with a curious smile. ¡°Eurydice.¡± Astrid frowned, clearly confused. ¡°The one from the Greek myth?¡± I nodded, feeling a pang of nervousness. Of course, I had already told her the myth before, but this was the first time I told her I saw something of Eurydice in her. ¡°She was the love of Orpheus, someone he was willing to challenge Hades himself for. But¡­¡± I stopped, unable to finish the sentence. ¡°But what?¡± Astrid insisted. ¡°But he lost her because he couldn¡¯t trust enough.¡± Astrid stayed silent for a moment, as if processing my words. ¡°That¡¯s sad,¡± she said finally. ¡°It is. But it¡¯s also beautiful, because he loved her enough to try.¡± In that moment, I knew she would be my Eurydice. Not because I wanted to repeat Orpheus¡¯s tragedy, but because I felt our love was destined to be something immense, something that could challenge even the gods. But what I didn¡¯t know was that, like Orpheus, my lack of trust would be my downfall. ----------------------------- The Reflection He Refused to See With every passing day, I felt that Astrid¡¯s love was like a mirror, showing me everything I could be, but also everything I was terrified to face. In her eyes, I saw a reflection of who I wanted to be, but also of everything I lacked. And instead of embracing that light, I began to pull away from it, as if the intensity of her love was too much to hold. The problem wasn¡¯t Astrid. The problem was me, and the cracks inside me¡ªthose she had seen from the beginning. But in the end, what Astrid couldn¡¯t see was that those cracks didn¡¯t want to be mended, because fixing something broken requires courage. And that was something I didn¡¯t have. Chapter 4: The Cracks Beneath the Surface Love can seem invincible until the first cracks begin to appear. They¡¯re not always visible, not even obvious, but they can be felt. In silences that stretch longer than they should. In glances that avoid unspoken questions. In words that get stuck in your throat. With Astrid, those cracks started as something almost imperceptible, like a murmur I could barely make out. But they were there, growing beneath the surface, fed by something I didn¡¯t fully understand: my fear. ------------------------------ The Weight of Insecurity There were days when Astrid¡¯s light seemed to illuminate every dark corner of my being. And while I should have felt lucky to have her by my side, all I felt was a growing shadow of insecurity. How could someone like her, someone who saw beauty in everything, love someone like me? That question started to haunt me, echoing constantly in my mind, affecting the way I saw her¡ªand the way I saw myself. Astrid, of course, noticed my distance. She was too perceptive not to. But at first, instead of confronting it directly, she tried to bridge the gap in other ways. She left me notes on my nightstand, little reminders of how much I meant to her. She cooked for me, even though cooking wasn¡¯t her strong suit, laughing every time something went wrong. One night in particular, after she¡¯d almost burned dinner, I found her in the kitchen, laughing as she tried to salvage what was left of a stew. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do these things,¡± I said, leaning against the doorframe. She looked up and smiled, holding a spoon in her hand like she was about to surrender. ¡°But I want to,¡± she replied, with a certainty that disarmed me. I wanted to hug her in that moment, but instead, I just nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Her love was so simple, so pure, that it made me feel like a fraud. And though I wanted to give her the same in return, there was something inside me that kept me distant, trapped in my own fears. ------------------------------ The Night on the Balcony I remember one particular night, one of those that still haunts me in moments of clarity. We were on the balcony of my apartment, looking out at the city that stretched before us. Astrid had a glass of wine in her hand, and her hair shimmered under the dim light spilling out from inside. ¡°Do you ever think about the future?¡± she asked suddenly.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The sound of her voice cut through the silence in a way that felt almost painful. ¡°All the time,¡± I replied. ¡°And how do you see me in that future?¡± Her question caught me off guard. Not because I didn¡¯t have an answer, but because I knew the answer she was hoping for wasn¡¯t one I could give her in that moment. ¡°I see you there,¡± I said, trying to smile, but feeling my words ring hollow, even to myself. Astrid looked at me for a moment, narrowing her eyes as if she were trying to read something in my expression. Then she nodded and turned her gaze back to the horizon. The silence between us became palpable, like an invisible weight. ¡°Sometimes I think you think too much,¡± she said finally. I wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. Because I knew she was right. My thoughts, my doubts, my fears¡ªthey were like an invisible wall between us, and though she could see it clearly, neither of us knew how to tear it down. The wind blew, stirring her hair, and I stared at her, thinking about all the things I wanted to say but couldn¡¯t. ------------------------------ Arguments That Came From Nothing Over time, our conversations began to fill with awkward pauses, with little misunderstandings that turned into unnecessary arguments. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you always keep things to yourself,¡± she said one afternoon after I refused to tell her about something that had been bothering me at work. ¡°It¡¯s not important,¡± I replied, trying to dismiss it. ¡°Of course it¡¯s important,¡± she insisted. ¡°Whatever happens to you matters to me.¡± Her sincerity disarmed me, but instead of opening up to her, I closed myself off even more. ¡°I don¡¯t want to put more weight on you,¡± I said finally. Astrid sighed, and this time she didn¡¯t try to hide her frustration. Her fingers tapped against the table, and when she finally spoke, her voice had an edge I rarely heard from her. ¡°It¡¯s not about carrying weight. It¡¯s about sharing.¡± It was such a simple truth, but one I couldn¡¯t accept in that moment. My own pride, mixed with my fear of being vulnerable, kept me from being completely honest with her. And every time I shut her out, I felt like I was losing her a little more. ------------------------------ The Broken Promise One night, Astrid asked me to go with her to an art exhibition she¡¯d been looking forward to for weeks. I promised her I¡¯d go, but when the day came, I found myself searching for excuses not to. I was tired, I said. It had been a hard week at work. I had a headache. Astrid didn¡¯t argue. She just looked at me with a mix of disappointment and resignation that made me feel smaller than I already felt. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, picking up her bag. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later.¡± That night, as I sat alone in my apartment, I realized that something fundamental had changed. Not in her, but in me. I was becoming someone I didn¡¯t want to be¡ªsomeone who said he loved but didn¡¯t act like it. ------------------------------ The Weight of the Cracks The weeks that followed were marked by a silence we had never experienced before. Astrid was still affectionate, but there was something in her smile that seemed dimmed, as if she were holding parts of herself back. And in my selfishness, I didn¡¯t know how to fix the damage I had caused. One night, as she slept beside me, I found myself thinking about the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. About how Orpheus had lost Eurydice not because he didn¡¯t love her, but because he couldn¡¯t resist the temptation to look back. I wondered if I was doing the same¡ªlosing her, not because I didn¡¯t love her, but because I couldn¡¯t face my own demons. That was the first time I realized that our love, as deep as it was, wasn¡¯t invincible. And though I didn¡¯t know it yet, the cracks that had begun as murmurs would soon become an abyss impossible to cross. Chapter 5: The Abyss Between Us Love doesn¡¯t always end with an explosion. Sometimes it dies quietly, with small acts of neglect that pile up until they become unbearable. With Astrid, the separation didn¡¯t come all at once; it came like a steady rain that, without us noticing, had soaked us to the bone. There were nights when I lay beside her, but the space between us in bed felt wider than any physical distance. Astrid always slept on her side, curled up as if trying to protect herself from something, while I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how we had gotten to this point. ------------------------------ The Signs I Ignored The signs were there, though I chose not to see them. Astrid no longer left notes on my nightstand or tried to surprise me with improvised dinners. Her gestures of love, which had once been constant, had now dwindled into an empty routine. One day, while we were walking in the park, I brought up a plan we¡¯d made months ago: a trip to the beach we had both dreamed of taking together. ¡°Maybe we should postpone it a little longer,¡± I said, more out of habit than conviction. She didn¡¯t respond right away. She stopped in her tracks and looked at me with a sadness that hit me like a slap. ¡°Do you really want to take that trip with me?¡± Her question left me speechless. Of course, I wanted to¡ªor at least that¡¯s what I kept telling myself. But something in her gaze, in the way her words hung in the air, made it clear that she wasn¡¯t asking about the trip. She was asking if I still loved her, if I still saw a future with her. And my silence spoke louder than any response. I saw how her lips trembled slightly, as if she was holding something back, and then she looked away. In that moment, I should have said something, anything. But the weight of my own inability to face the truth kept me quiet. ------------------------------ The Breaking Point The night everything changed started like any other. We were at home, each in our own corner of the couch. I pretended to read a book while she stared at her phone, but I could feel her unease in the air, like a storm about to break. ¡°We need to talk,¡± she said suddenly, breaking the silence. I put the book down and looked at her, trying to prepare myself for what was coming. ¡°I can¡¯t keep doing this,¡± she continued, her voice trembling but firm. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m losing parts of myself in this relationship.¡± I wanted to interrupt her, to tell her she was exaggerating, that we could still fix things. But something in her eyes stopped me. Her gaze was full of tears she was holding back, but also of a determination I hadn¡¯t seen before. It was the look of someone who had fought for a long time and had finally accepted that it was a losing battle.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°I love you,¡± she said, and those words felt like a direct blow to the chest. ¡°But I can¡¯t keep loving you if it means losing myself.¡± Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke, and I could barely meet her eyes. Not because I didn¡¯t love her, but because I knew I had failed. I wanted to promise her that things would change, that I would change, but even those words felt hollow in my mind. ------------------------------ The Silence That Said Everything When Astrid got up from the couch and began gathering her things, I did nothing to stop her. Not because I didn¡¯t want to, but because I didn¡¯t know how. ¡°You¡¯ll always be my Eurydice,¡± I murmured, almost without realizing it. She stopped in her tracks and looked at me. There was surprise in her eyes, but also a deep pain, as if those words had revealed something she had suspected all along. ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asked, her voice breaking around a lump in her throat. ¡°Eurydice was everything to Orpheus,¡± I said, my voice barely a whisper. ¡°But he lost her because he couldn¡¯t trust, because he couldn¡¯t resist the temptation to look back.¡± Astrid nodded slowly, as if she was finally understanding something she had been searching for all along. ¡°Maybe you also need to learn how to stop looking back,¡± she replied before walking out the door. The sound of the door closing echoed through the empty apartment. I stood there, unable to move, feeling the weight of her absence pressing down on my chest like a stone. ------------------------------ The Void She Left Behind That night, I stayed alone in the apartment, surrounded by the things we had built together. Every corner held something that reminded me of her: the coffee mug she always used, the book she never finished reading, the scarf she had left hanging by the door. I picked up the scarf, feeling the softness of the fabric against my fingers, as if holding it could bring back a piece of her. But it didn¡¯t. All that was left was the emptiness. It was as if a part of me had disappeared with her, leaving me incomplete, hollow. ------------------------------ The First Attempt at Redemption Days passed before I could gather the courage to write to her. And when I finally did, every word felt insufficient: "Astrid, I don¡¯t know how to put what I feel into words. I know I failed you, I know I hurt you, and there¡¯s no excuse for that. But I want you to know that I will always love you, even if I¡¯m not by your side. You are, and will always be, my Eurydice." I wrote several versions before settling on those words. I crossed out phrases, rewrote lines, but everything felt hollow compared to what I wanted to express. Finally, I sent it, knowing I might never get a response. And I didn¡¯t. Though it hurt, I understood that I couldn¡¯t expect her to come back just because I was ready to admit my mistakes. ------------------------------ The Myth and the Reality The myth of Orpheus and Eurydice became a refuge for me. I read it and reread it, trying to find some answer in its words. Orpheus had looked back because he couldn¡¯t bear the uncertainty, because his love for Eurydice was so great that he preferred to risk everything rather than lose her. I had done something worse. I hadn¡¯t looked back out of love. I had let my fears and insecurities destroy something that could have been beautiful. ------------------------------ A Promise to Myself That night, I made a promise: that I wouldn¡¯t let my story with Astrid end like Orpheus and Eurydice¡¯s. Maybe I could never win her back, but I could learn from my mistakes. I could try to be better¡ªnot just for her, but for myself. And though I still didn¡¯t know how to start, I understood that the first step was to face my own demons. Because love, true and lasting love, doesn¡¯t come from perfection. It comes from the ability to accept our imperfections and fight for what truly matters. Chapter 6: Echoes in the Void The echo of my words at the end of that night still resonated in my mind: "The first step is to face my own demons." I couldn¡¯t let those words remain empty promises. If there was one thing I knew after all this time, it was that I had to try. I couldn¡¯t stay trapped in ¡°what if.¡± I started looking for ways to reconnect with Astrid. I wrote messages that I later deleted. I thought about calling her, but fear of how she might react paralyzed me. I spent countless nights rehearsing the exact words I might say to her, imagining conversations that would never happen. Finally, after days of wavering between bravery and cowardice, I decided to write her a letter. I didn¡¯t have her current address, so I used the last one I remembered. It was a risk, but I had to try. ------------------------------ The Letter That Never Got a Response Writing it was harder than I¡¯d imagined. Every word felt like a challenge, as if I were peeling away layers of something I¡¯d kept inside for far too long. I chose my words carefully, trying to balance honesty with caution. I wanted to apologize without sounding desperate, to be vulnerable without putting pressure on her. "Astrid, I know you probably didn¡¯t expect to hear from me, but I felt I had to write to you. I want to apologize¡ªnot just for what happened, but for everything I failed to give you. You were my Eurydice, the light that showed me a world I didn¡¯t know how to value. Now I understand how deeply I failed you, and while I don¡¯t expect your forgiveness, I want you to know that I¡¯m working to be better. Not for you, but because you taught me that I can be." Before sending it, I read it over and over, questioning whether I was saying too much or too little. I wondered if she would read it with the same care I¡¯d used to choose each word, if she would understand everything I¡¯d left unsaid. Finally, I placed it in an envelope, wrote her name in shaky handwriting, and sent it. What followed was a mix of anxiety and hope that trapped me in an endless cycle. Every day, I checked my mailbox, hoping for a response that never came. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. With each passing day without news from her, reality became clearer: I might never hear from her again. ------------------------------ The Slow Acceptance Though the lack of response hurt, it also forced me to confront something I had been avoiding: my life couldn¡¯t depend on her. I had put so much weight on Astrid that, without realizing it, I had lost myself.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. I made a decision: to seek help. I found a therapist who listened without judgment, someone who didn¡¯t offer quick fixes but helped me understand something crucial: my obsession with ¡°what could have been¡± was keeping me from moving forward. I remember our first session. I sat at the edge of the couch, my hands clasped tightly together, and finally said: ¡ª¡°I don¡¯t know who I am without her.¡± He nodded, as if he¡¯d been waiting for those words. ¡ª¡°Maybe it¡¯s time to find out.¡± It was a slow process. There were days when I felt like I was making progress, small moments of clarity where I could breathe without feeling the weight on my chest. But there were also days when everything seemed to fall apart, when Astrid¡¯s absence felt like an unfillable void. Still, little by little, I began to let go. Not all at once, but enough to take a step forward. ------------------------------ The Unexpected Message It was on my birthday, months later, that I received something I never imagined: a postcard. At first, I thought it was from a friend or family member, but when I saw the handwriting on the back, I immediately knew it was from Astrid. "I hope you¡¯re doing well. Today I remembered how much you loved clear skies at dawn. I¡¯m doing well, building something new and full of life. I hope you find what you need too. Take care of yourself." My heart stopped as I read it. I stared at those words for minutes, trying to absorb everything they meant. Though they were brief and careful, their message was clear: she was okay. She had found her path¡ªone that no longer included us. A part of me wanted to cling to that postcard, to interpret it as a door left ajar. But I knew it wasn¡¯t. It was a final goodbye, a kind and respectful closure. ------------------------------ Toward Liberation That night, I reread her postcard several times. Each word resonated within me¡ªnot as a reproach, but as a reminder that the best thing I could do was move forward. Not for her, but for myself. I decided to go to the bridge where I had once confessed my love for her. It was a place I had avoided since she left, afraid of what I might feel being there again. But that night, under a clear sky and a blanket of stars, I felt different. I rested my hands on the railing and took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs. I stood there, watching the lights reflected in the river, feeling the presence of the past but no longer letting it crush me. ¡°Thank you for everything, Astrid,¡± I murmured to the wind. ¡°Thank you for teaching me how to love, even when I didn¡¯t know how.¡± It wasn¡¯t a dramatic act; I didn¡¯t throw anything into the water or shout at the sky. It was a whisper to the universe, a quiet and necessary farewell. For the first time in months, I felt peace. There was still so much work to do, but I no longer felt alone in that struggle. I had found something within myself¡ªa thread of hope that encouraged me to keep moving forward. And as I walked away from the bridge, glancing one last time at the clear sky, I knew that true love doesn¡¯t always mean staying together. Sometimes, it¡¯s about learning to let go. Chapter 7: Shadows of What We Were The goodbye was behind me now, like an echo fading into the horizon, yet its resonance remained within me. I had made the decision to move forward, to learn how to live without Astrid as a constant beacon in my life. However, in the days that followed her letter, a new reality emerged: not everything disappears when you say goodbye. At night, while the world slept and stillness took over my surroundings, she returned to me. Not as memories, but in dreams. In those hours when logic dissolved and the unreal became tangible, Astrid and I found each other again. The first dream was so vivid that, upon waking, I could almost smell her in the air, as if she were still beside me. We were in the park where we used to spend our afternoons, that corner of the world that seemed to exist just for us. The colors were more vibrant than in reality: the green of the leaves, the blue of the sky, the golden light filtering through the trees. She smiled with the same light that used to illuminate my days, and I smiled back as if I had never lost her. ¡°It¡¯s as if we never drifted apart, isn¡¯t it?¡± she said, with a tranquility that disarmed me. I nodded, unable to form words. In that moment, everything felt perfect, as though the pain and goodbyes were distant illusions. But just as I dared to believe in that reality, the world began to unravel. The park transformed into a strange, fragmented landscape, as though I were seeing our story through a broken mirror. Each fragment showed a different moment: our laughter, our arguments, the last time I saw her. I tried to reach for her, but she disappeared into the cracks, leaving behind an emptiness that seemed infinite. I woke up with my heart pounding. The clock read 3:14 a.m. I sat in the darkness, trying to make sense of what I had just felt. Was it just a dream, or was my mind trying to tell me something? I looked around the room, searching for something to ground me in the present, but all I felt was her absence, still lingering in every corner of my life. ------------------------------ Parallel Worlds The weeks that followed were a repetition of this pattern. Every night, a new dream. Sometimes, we were in familiar places: our favorite caf¨¦, the library where we used to study together, the balcony of my old apartment. There was a warmth in those moments, a sense of belonging that had disappeared from my waking life. But other times, the dreams became strange. We were strangers meeting by chance on a train. Or coworkers sharing an inexplicable connection, as though our paths were destined to cross in any circumstance.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. In every dream, one thing remained constant: the feeling that, in those alternate worlds, we had found a way to be together. ¡°Do you think that somewhere, in some universe, we managed to be happy?¡± I asked her in one of those dreams, as we walked along a path covered in flowers. She smiled, her expression tinged with melancholy, and replied: ¡°Maybe. But what matters isn¡¯t what could have been. It¡¯s what we do with what we have here.¡± When I woke up, her words echoed in my mind like a mantra. Yet during the day, my obsession with those dreams grew. I found myself combing through books and articles about parallel universes, searching for answers. Was it possible that there were other worlds where our versions were still together? And what if those dreams were a window into something real? ------------------------------ The Thin Line Between Hope and Obsession What had started as a comfort soon became a burden. I stopped going out with friends, canceling invitations with excuses even I didn¡¯t believe. My projects sat unfinished on my desk, gathering dust. My life became an endless cycle of superficial work and waiting: waiting to sleep, waiting to see her again. The anxiety grew, like a shadow stretching longer with each passing night. I found myself watching the clock, willing the hours to pass faster so I could close my eyes. But each awakening was a blow, a reminder that those moments, no matter how beautiful, were not real. It was then that I decided to write her a letter. Not a letter to send, but one to unburden my soul. "Dear Astrid, I dream of you every night, and though I know you¡¯ll never read this, I need to tell you how I feel. In those dreams, we¡¯re everything we never managed to be here. We laugh, we embrace, we understand each other. And each time I wake, the emptiness feels greater. Will I ever stop searching for you in those unreal worlds? I don¡¯t know. But if you ever read this, I just want you to know that I still love you, in this universe and in all the others." When I finished writing, I felt as though I had released a weight I¡¯d been carrying in silence. I placed the letter on my desk and lay down, not expecting anything. That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept without dreaming. When I woke up, I felt a faint spark of peace. It was small, but it was there. ------------------------------ A New Understanding As the days passed, I began to reflect on my dreams. I realized they weren¡¯t a doorway to alternate universes, but a mirror of my own interior. Each scenario, each version of Astrid, was a representation of my hopes, my fears, and my inability to let go. The dreams weren¡¯t an escape; they were a reminder that I still had work to do. I remembered Astrid¡¯s words in one of those dreams: ¡°What matters isn¡¯t what could have been. It¡¯s what we do with what we have here.¡± Perhaps that was the lesson I needed to learn¡ªthat my obsession with ¡°what ifs¡± was only prolonging my pain. The next step became clear: I had to confront my obsession, to let go of the need to hold onto what could no longer be. But how could I do that without feeling like I was betraying what Astrid had meant to me? I sat down in front of the letter I¡¯d written and read it one last time. Then, carefully, I placed it in a box along with other mementos of our relationship. Not to forget her, but to acknowledge that she was part of my past, not my present. As I closed the box, I understood something important: letting go didn¡¯t mean losing her. It meant making space to find myself. Chapter 8: Fragments of a Broken Reality The therapist¡¯s office was small but cozy. The walls were painted in a soft hue, somewhere between beige and gray, and a floor lamp cast a warm light over the corner of the couch where I usually sat. I hadn¡¯t been here in months, convinced that I no longer needed it. But now I was back, with my heart in my hands and my eyes fixed on the floor. Even the air in the room carried a faintly familiar scent, a mix of old paper and lavender, as though everything in that space was designed to invite comfort. ¡°How have you been?¡± my therapist asked, his tone warm as always¡ªa reminder that there was no judgment here. ¡°I thought I was okay, but... I relapsed.¡± As the words left my mouth, I felt a pang of shame, as if admitting it were a failure. But there was also relief. I told him how I had found an old journal hidden among forgotten boxes in my closet. I didn¡¯t remember keeping it, but there it was, like a ghost from my past. Between its pages were the first letters I had ever written for Astrid¡ªmessages I never sent because I didn¡¯t have the courage to show her my vulnerability. ¡°Why did things end like this? Why wasn¡¯t I enough?¡± That thought had lingered in my mind since our relationship ended, but rereading those words made the echo unbearable. My therapist listened attentively, his hands resting on his lap as I unraveled the details of the discovery. I told him how opening the journal felt like opening a time capsule, as though a part of me had been frozen in those pages. He suggested something that initially sounded strange but made more sense the longer I considered it: to use those letters as a starting point, a way to better understand my emotions and perhaps find closure. ------------------------------ Reuniting with the Past That night, with the journal in front of me, I began reading the letters one by one. The yellowed paper carried a faint scent of dry ink, and some of the words had faded slightly, as if time itself were trying to erase what I had been too afraid to express. "Astrid, I thought of you more than usual today. I walked through the park where we used to go, and I could almost hear your laughter. Everything reminds me of you, and I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s beautiful or cruel." Each letter was a direct hit to the chest. I had written about our happy moments, our arguments, my insecurities, which at the time seemed small but now revealed themselves as deep cracks I never knew how to mend. It was like reopening an old wound that had never truly healed. Between the pages, I found a loose sheet covered with chaotic scribbles¡ªa mix of thoughts and emotions I could barely make sense of. Some phrases jumped out, like cries from the past etched onto the page:The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "How do you move forward when everything pulls you back to her? How long does it take to forget? Can you ever truly forget?" The last entry in the journal wasn¡¯t a letter but an unfinished reflection. My handwriting was hurried, as though I had tried to write faster than my thoughts could form: "Love shouldn¡¯t hurt this much. But maybe if I let it go, it¡¯ll hurt less. I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯ll never know." Reading those words, I felt a mix of sadness and compassion for my younger self. I had been so trapped in fear and insecurity that I hadn¡¯t allowed myself to fully feel or express what was inside me. ------------------------------ The Letters Never Sent With each page I turned, I felt something shifting inside me. I had avoided facing these memories for so long that now, seeing them laid bare on paper, I couldn¡¯t look away. As I read, I wondered how Astrid might have reacted if I had ever given her those letters. Would it have changed anything? Would she have understood what I could never say to her face? In my next session, I brought the journal with me. ¡°I feel like this is dragging me back,¡± I admitted, placing the journal on the table between us. ¡°But at the same time, I think I need to confront it.¡± My therapist took a moment before responding, his gaze steady. ¡°How do you feel when you read those letters?¡± he asked. ¡°Pain, regret¡­ and a strange sense of relief. It¡¯s like, by writing them, some part of me found comfort, even if I never sent them.¡± He nodded, his expression calm but attentive. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s what you need now. Not to send them, but to give them a purpose.¡± That night, after much thought, I decided to write one final letter. Not for Astrid, but for myself. "This will be my last letter to you, Astrid. Not because I want to forget you, but because I want to remember you without pain. I loved you with everything I had, but I now understand that love also means knowing when to let go. Thank you for the moments we shared, for teaching me what it means to love. Goodbye." As I wrote those words, I felt something I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time: a gentle release, like a knot finally loosening after years of tension. I placed the letter inside the journal and closed it with a deep sigh. ------------------------------ A Step Forward Closing the journal felt like closing a chapter of my life. I didn¡¯t know if that meant I was ready to move on, but it was a start. In the days that followed, I began making small changes. I went out more, revisited old hobbies I had abandoned, and even signed up for a writing workshop¡ªa space where I could pour my emotions onto the page without fear of judgment. It was there that I met Clara. Clara was nothing like Astrid. Her dark hair framed a face that always seemed on the verge of laughter, and she wore a small star-shaped pendant that caught the light whenever she moved. She had a way of making every conversation feel meaningful, no matter how mundane the topic. At first, I resisted the idea of opening my heart again. I felt as though doing so would betray the love I still carried within me. But Clara wasn¡¯t a threat, nor a replacement. There were no expectations of what she should be. She was simply someone willing to listen, to be there. And for the first time, I felt that was enough. As the sun set on yet another day, I sat on a bench after the workshop, watching the light fade into twilight. For the first time in a long while, I felt something stir within me: hope.