When impossible love becomes the compass that leads us home
We were in a forgotten town on Colombia’s Caribbean coast, one of those places that seem suspended in time—where the salty wind wears away the houses, and palm trees whisper secrets to the few travelers who pass by. I had traveled there with my family because my sister and parents needed to settle a bureaucratic matter, a property document that required our presence at the town hall. With the papers in my hand and my restless heart urging me to move, I decided to escape the wait for a while, taking my dog as my only companion.
My feet led me through cobblestone streets that smelled of sea and memory until, almost without realizing it, I arrived at the gates of my old university. There, as if summoned by destiny or nostalgia, I saw Óscar. We hadn’t seen each other in years, yet the moment our eyes met, time folded into itself. We hugged with the urgency of two people who have loved each other in other lives and don’t know how to say goodbye in this one. In that embrace, everything that had been left unsaid came rushing to the surface—the love we had felt, the impossibility of living it. While we spoke, the sky broke open, and a storm fell as if it too wanted to cry with us.
I knew I had to go back to my family, but the desire to stay by his side was stronger than the rain. We talked about impossible dreams, of a small house by the sea, of a simple life where only the two of us existed. But we both knew it wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t our time. When I finally walked away, my steps were heavy, and Óscar followed silently, the storm reflecting the turmoil between us.
The sea was wild that night. In the distance, the horizon twisted into shapes that looked like sleeping beasts ready to wake. I walked along the shore, caught between an abandoned town and echoes of a past life, while the rain soaked me to the bone. Óscar reached me and offered his hand. We took shelter in an empty farmhouse nearby. Inside, surrounded by the scent of wet wood and the sound of thunder, we held each other one last time. That embrace felt like an act of survival, as if holding on could save us from being erased. I felt his love moving through me—warm, fierce, eternal—and even so, we both knew I couldn’t stay. There was something greater than desire calling me back: my family.
I ran through the darkness, guided by him, until I found my parents and sister. That was where we said goodbye. It was the kind of farewell that stays lodged in the heart forever, one that carries both pain and gratitude. My father was in bad shape; his body was failing him. I held him close, supporting his steps as we made our way across the stormy beach toward the hotel. Suddenly, he let go of my arm and walked into the sea, as if the ocean itself were calling him home.
That was when Alde appeared—serene, radiant, as though he had stepped out of a dream. His voice was calm and steady when he said, “Your father wants to die to save us.” I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was somewhere else—a white, endless place filled with joy. Dogs ran around me, tails wagging in pure happiness. Alvin and Gypsy were there, circling me with excitement. And among them stood Óscar, holding his own dog, the one he had raised from a puppy. He looked at me with a tenderness that said everything words couldn’t, as if he already knew how this story would end. Then, slowly, he faded away.
Back on the shore, my sister was tending to our father, giving him insulin and medicine, calling him back to life. Slowly, he began to breathe again, fragile but alive, like a candle refusing to go out.
I kept walking, feeling both lost and found at the same time, until I stumbled upon a huge canvas leaning against a wall. Without thinking, I opened a box of acrylics and began to paint. My hands moved on their own, guided by emotion rather than thought. I painted Óscar—his eyes full of melancholy, his impossible smile. The canvas filled with shades of blue: sky blue, ocean blue, foam white. It was beautiful, and it hurt. I carried it with me and continued walking.
Then Alde appeared again, silent but steady. When I embraced him, I felt a certainty that went beyond reason—the certainty of being safe, of being loved, of knowing that no storm could harm me anymore. In that moment, I understood that Óscar’s love, immense and painful as it was, had not been meant to last but to guide me—to lead me to Alde, who was my destination all along.
Sometimes love isn’t the port where we anchor; it’s the compass that points us toward where we’re truly meant to be.
Nel Duarte
Read more about love and loss guiding our paths → Rest in Peace, My Life Partner
✨ Thank you for reading this reflection. May this story of impossible love show how even in loss, we can find a love that guides us—transforming memory into a compass and destiny into home.