What I truly feel
There is something more than magical in finally recognizing that connection I once imagined as a distant promise. Even when the warmth of his body becomes too much on certain nights, or his snoring breaks the fragile thread of sleep, there is a deep peace in knowing he is there. Listening to the breathing of someone you love—and who loves you back—is a language without words, a certainty that needs no explanation.
Each smile, each embrace, slowly seals old wounds while illuminating the crack that opened long ago. But it is not him who creates this calm. It is not the other person who grants me this refuge. It is the reflection of what I now allow myself to feel. It is the love I once lacked, the love I have finally begun to give myself.
I woke beside him, guided by the rhythm of his breath, and felt the urge to write so I would not forget this moment. To understand that it is me—through years and pain—who has arrived at a place where loving no longer hurts. Where love is not a threat or a sacrifice, but a shelter.
I cannot say it is always like this. Not every night carries this softness. Nightmares still return without warning, and quiet grief still rises for the woman I once was. But recognizing moments like today allows me to be grateful even for the pain I lived through, because it is through that pain that I can value this stillness and finally understand what true love is: honest, clear, and unafraid.
That love which was, which is, and which will always be.
Because it does not live outside of me.
It is not him, nor her.
It is mine.
Learning to truly love oneself is accepting that pain existed, that every fall left deep marks, and that healing is not forgetting but reconciliation. It is finally arriving at this love.
My own love.
Nel Duarte
Calgary Dec. 20, 2025, 4:35 am