Writing About Love After Seven Years of Grief

A love letter that will never receive the answer

The river where I’d come to talk to you. / Photo by author.

It’s been nearly seven years, and you still visit me from time to time. Usually, you come carried by a sudden thought that strikes like lightning and drenches my head in a downpour. I don’t see you at night anymore; you don’t appear in my dreams. I guess since you came to me in one of them and sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed my hand, saying you had to say goodbye and asked me to let you go, you locked that door behind you, and I’m sure you had a reason for it.

You told me then to be brave and to take care of myself, and I did my best not to let you down. I hope you took good care of yourself, too. I didn’t know back then that over the following years, I was to question everything I knew so far about the world and myself and come out stronger and calmer, with my heart open and trusting.

Through this time, I’ve come to realise that grief might not be something one heals from and leaves behind but rather something to learn to live with continuously. I thought I had dealt with it already, once and for all. I thought that if I ever recalled your name, it would now be only with gratitude and steady joy for having had the chance to know you.