Grieving the Love I Lost — Because I Pushed It Away

I can still feel you in my heart

Even though we are apart

I can go back to when we were happy

When we cuddled, talked, and laughed

But I also remember the pain

The fights, the tears, the strain

We had our history, not all pleasant

But the feeling of love is still present

I close my eyes and see your face

Your smile, your eyes, your grace

I remember the gifts you gave me

The flower, the ring, the scanner

You see, I was dealing with things

That I didn’t understand, that had stings

But you were the only one I ever loved

The only one who made me feel enough

You told me everything I wanted to hear

And I knew you meant it, you were sincere

You are super special to me, always will be

I love you (Name Removed), but I can’t say it, you see

I’m afraid to tell you how I feel

I don’t want to scare you, make it real

I have no idea how you’re feeling now

You have kids, I live far, I don’t know how

What’s the point in telling you?

How could things even work, be true?

I want to run into your arms so bad

But I’m afraid you’ll think I’m mad

I’m not sure now if I was ever truly feeling love. I mean, at one point, I know I did. But time, reflection, and healing have a way of peeling back layers I never even knew were there.

What I once called “love” may have been more about attachment — a deep, desperate grasping for something I had never known. He came into my life like a lifeline, saving me from the chaos of my environment and giving me the first real taste of what love could feel like, what it could look like. And for that, I will always be grateful.

But during that time, I was incapable of loving him the way he deserved to be loved. I didn’t know it then, but I was repeating patterns — pushing away the good, healthy people and clinging to the ones who hurt me. Because that's what I was taught: that love is pain, that closeness is conditional, and that people leave.

So I pushed him. Manipulated situations, behaved in toxic ways, unconsciously forcing him out of my life. If he left, I could validate my belief that I wasn't worthy of love, that everyone leaves eventually — so why not just make it happen now? Looking back, it’s clear: I wasn’t doing any of this consciously. I didn’t understand my own behavior. I didn’t know that I was simply repeating what had been modeled for me my whole life.

I was drawn to what was familiar: pain. I was loyal to those who didn’t deserve it, pouring out love and loyalty to people who couldn’t or wouldn’t return it. Meanwhile, the ones who showed up with good intentions — like him — were met with resistance, mistrust, and ultimately, rejection.

And still, a small part of me has held onto the fantasy that maybe we could try again. We have so much in common. We were alike in many ways. But too much damage was done. He told me himself, “But I can never forget any of it.” And I can’t either. There's too much history. Too much trauma.

The reality is, I met him when I was 17. I was just a girl trying to survive, trying to find love in a world that never gave her any. So why would I think that, after almost two decades of no contact, we could pick up where we left off? That the love would still be there, untouched?

Even so, meeting him again, spending that day with him — it was necessary. It was part of my healing. Feeling that kind of love again, even briefly, reminded me of what I deserve. And it showed me how far I’ve come — and how far I still have to go.

I’m not ready for another relationship. My life is still very much under construction. But now I know: one day, there will be room for someone. Someone who sees me. Someone I don’t feel the need to push away.

This man will always be my first love. The first man who ever treated me with the care and respect I deserved. And despite everything I did, he stayed — longer than anyone else ever had. That was real love.

So now, I grieve. I grieve the love I had. The love I’ve been chasing my entire life. And I grieve the painful truth: that I was the one who let it slip away.

But in grieving a love lost, there is room for growth, and there is hope.