When Love wasn't Easy
- Reads 7
- Votes 0
- Parts 1
Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Mon, Aug 25, 2025
when love wasn't easy
what are we going to do about it?
are we going to pretend that love is nothing but a figment of our imagination?
or are we to still cling to the hope that one day... ONE DAY
we'll meet someone who'll fill the void in our hearts...
mend the wounds caused by time and fate's cruel design?
when love wasn’t easy, we learned the language of waiting,
we traced the outlines of promises that never came true,
we held on to words that faded as quickly as they were spoken.
and yet, somewhere in the ache, we still believed—
that love, in all its brokenness, still carried light.
love has always been both a sanctuary and a storm.
it shelters us in its warmth,
yet strikes us with a lightning we never saw coming.
but isn’t that the beauty of it?
that even in its difficulty, it teaches us how much
our hearts can endure... and how much they can still give.
because love, even when it shatters,
plants seeds of hope in the ruins.
because love, even when unreturned,
teaches us the courage of vulnerability.
because love, even when it leaves us bleeding,
reminds us that we were alive enough to feel.
so here are stories, compiled by love—
stitched from sorrow, bound by longing,
painted with memories of midnight tears
and daylight laughter we once thought would last forever.
a collection of truths and scars, of wounds and healing,
of lovers lost and souls that still dared to hope.
when love wasn’t easy,
it became poetry.
and now, these pages carry its echo,
for you to hold, for you to remember,
for you to believe—
that even when love wasn’t easy,
it was never in vain.
All Rights Reserved
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
You may also like
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
Brutally yours
To the quiet girls with stormy hearts. To the boys who feel too much but show too little. To those who were never chosen first - but loved like they were the last. This story is for the unseen, the unheard, the untamed. For every soul who thought they were "too soft" for this world - and found someone who didn't just see their softness, but protected it with fire. For anyone who still believes that love isn't always gentle - but when it's real, it is brutally honest, brutally fierce, and brutally yours. And most of all - To the one who dreams loud in silence: This is your story. You just haven't lived it yet.Complete
The Same Heart
This isn't about forgetting. It's about choosing love again. With the same heart, that once loved another.Complete
Kisses Didn't Cure Me
*She spent her whole life searching for something that didn't exist - not in her family, not in the boys who swore they loved her, and definitely not in the mirror. Alone in a world that never made space for her softness, she gave up on love altogether. Until him. A man who didn't rush her healing, didn't flinch at her scars, and didn't leave when she tried to push him away. But love, for her, has never been gentle. And kisses? They never cured her before... so why would this be any different? "Kisses Didn't Cure Me" is a story about heartbreak, trauma, solitude, and the slow, dangerous art of learning to trust again.*Complete
The Space Between Our Lines
Have you ever felt a love that lives in silence, in the spaces no one notices? A longing that trembles in your chest but never finds its voice? What if the one who could fill the emptiness inside you is the one you are too afraid to reach for? What if every almost, every hesitation, every word left unsent has been shaping your life more than you realize? Can you find the courage before fear takes over? Can you cross the spaces that keep you apart without breaking yourself? What if the person you were meant to love has been walking beside you all along, yet you never dared to see them? What if the life you dream of exists only in the moments you almost live it? What if letting go is the only way to hold on? And when the lines between hope and heartbreak blur, will you recognize what you've been searching for before it slips away forever? In the quiet between longing and choice, between love and fear, the question remains for you, for me, for every heart that dares to hope: can we step into the life and the love that has been waiting for us all along?
when you need me most
When you need me most, that's when I walk away. I've spent years with him-giving, pretending, sacrificing-but I've never really felt the way I thought I would. And still, I've never fully walked away. Each day feels heavier than the last, a quiet ache gnawing at me, reminding me that the person I'm losing isn't him... it's myself. People see us together and think it's enough. They see the smiles, the routines, the quiet mornings, the coffee he always makes, and they assume our love is perfect. They do not know the nights I lie awake, questioning if staying is worth the cost, or if leaving will destroy everything I've built inside myself. They do not know the small, invisible ways I've been disappearing-slowly, quietly, while he keeps holding on, unaware of how fragile I feel. It isn't that I don't care for him. He's kind, patient, and loving in ways that make me ache. But sometimes love isn't enough when it takes more than you can give-and when the person you're with doesn't meet you where you need them most. Between guilt, obligation, and the pull of familiarity, I've lost sight of myself, and I can't tell if I'm holding on to him... or just holding myself back. And now, when life throws new challenges his way, I have to face a question I've avoided for far too long: do I continue to sacrifice myself for a love that demands everything and gives only uncertainty? Or do I finally choose me-even if it means letting go?
Limitless Conversations
Two people. One bench. A thousand memories between them. What began as simple laughter and late-night calls turned into distance, silence, and unspoken words. They loved each other once - deeply, painfully - but life had other plans. Between miscommunication, loss, and time, they drifted apart... leaving only echoes of what they used to be. Years later, fate brings them back to the same place where everything began - the bench beneath the streetlight. Only this time, they're not the same people who once fell in love. She's learned to rebuild herself from the quiet, to find meaning through her writing and the ghosts of her past. He's learned to stop running, to sit with his emotions, and to rediscover the parts of himself he once gave away. What follows isn't a love story in the traditional sense - it's a story about understanding. About heartbreak that transforms instead of destroys. About growth that doesn't erase what came before but gives it purpose. Because sometimes, love doesn't vanish. It just changes shape. And sometimes, the most powerful conversations are the ones that never really end - they simply wait for you to come back.Complete
REDRAWN BY FATE
Once, there was a boy who loved with all his heart. A love so simple, so pure - the kind that blooms in school corridors and ends with promises written in notebooks. He was a boy who longed for the love he lost - a father gone too soon, a heart half-empty. And when she came, he finally felt safe. But safety turned into fear... Fear of losing her, fear that his love itself was a curse. His love grew possessive - and her wings broke beneath it. One day, she left forever... And with her, she took the last piece of him. Years later, he married - not for love, but for duty. A woman who deserved the world... but was tied to a man whose heart belonged to a grave. Now, two souls live under one roof - one haunted by the past, and the other punished for a love she never received. This isn't a tale of love found - it's a story of love surviving - in silence, in distance, in pain.
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
More detailsContent Guidelines