The Love I Gave You

She had planned a date.
They met that day, and she looked extraordinarily happy. Her smile was brighter than the sun, her joy softer than the waves. She wore his favourite things, picked up the little habits he adored-love was a language she spoke only for him.
They walked to the beach, the sand writing their story while the tides erased everything else.
She said,
"The way I loved you... I'll never love anyone like that again. No one will ever receive this version of me."
Her voice didn't break, but the moment did.
And she kissed him gently.
They laughed.
They lived.
They held a memory before it became one.
Then she whispered,
"Let's break up."
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just sudden-like a door closing when you still believe you're welcome.
He said nothing, because sometimes heartbreak steals your words first.
She disappeared like she had never existed, gone in a way that made him wonder if she ever truly was-
or if love had simply borrowed her shape to teach him a lesson.