The Art of Love

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He came into her life like a hurricane; awakening parts of her soul she never knew existed. Under his fervent gaze, she felt a lifetime of transcendence—a sense of fulfilment as her heart finally found its missing puzzle piece.

The way his eyes fell upon her made her entire being ache for him. She compared their love to that of Romeo and Juliet, or Edward and Bella: that once in an existence type of love. Her heart yearned for him every moment he was away from her. Until one day, he never returned.

Despite her anger and sense of betrayal, she found herself pleading through broken sobs for him to come back to her, even if to only share one more moment in his arms. The minutes turned into hours, the hours into days—the time passing while she stayed frozen in time—this broken shell of a woman that she vowed to never be. Her angry heart interpreting the abandonment as an unfair injustice.

She was left with a broken heart and too many unanswered questions, fuelling her hostility while simultaneously igniting her need to write, to purge her pain. Suddenly, the love once had but now lost became her muse. It became her so completely that she could only put pen to paper while channelling her pain.

Just as she had predicted, part of her died as a result of loving him. She spent her life bleeding her heart across the page that was her canvas, baring every scar, hoping her words would heal at least one person from the torment her heart had endured. This was the art of love.

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