LONG READS: On A Lost Love


A day has passed since we last talked to each other. I am beginning to think that truly, this is the end. I say that I do not miss you, and I am not hurt, nor am I affected by your absence. That is true.

My mind can only process so many things at a time; and work occupies my weekdays like a comfortable antidote. I am too busy to think about us, about the gaping hole in my life, when there are so many tabs open on my laptop. There is no time to think about the first Friday that we have consciously spent apart when all my energy is devoted to prying out unpublished stories and accounts of past controversial political events.

My text messages are curt, and I hope you think that I no longer want anything to do with you. I hope you think that I am fine, and that life is going on as per normal for me. But more than anything, I hope you think I have stopped loving you; because one day, I will.


The struggle to stop loving is not a long-term process, but an intermittent one. The urges to break down, the stab of pain upon a sudden recollection of a past memory, the breath that catches when you see a familiar object; they all come periodically. To get over your lost love, you must defeat these struggles. You must brace yourself and ride the wave out.

I wonder what the tipping point was. I wonder what I was doing when you decided that you didn’t love me as much anymore. Was I having lunch, or immersed in a game on my iPad at home? I’ll never know.

“I don’t love you as much anymore.”

I tell myself that emotions are just chemical reactions. But no amount of reverse reactions could have prevented that lone tear from falling onto my shorts and staining it with the regrets of the yesteryears.

Moving On

Today, I start learning how to break free. This process is like trying to untangle something that’s been left messed up for five-odd years. I was never really good at the art of untangling; I would get frustrated and angry at things and at people.

Part of me doesn’t want to stop feeling the hurt, the anger, the indignation, and the betrayal. I know that time will heal all wounds and I am relishing feeling that moment when I finally break free. But at the same time, it means that I will have truly gotten over you, over us; and I’m still not quite sure I want that.

I will start writing poems and stories again; pieces that are fuelled by sadness and the overwhelming desire to find release. But as the days pass; unflinchingly, relentlessly, I hope that I learn to write of happiness again.

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