u/Helpful_Ship_4132

Following deep study of Nididhyasana texts (particularly the Avadhuta Gita and Ashtavakra Gita) and continuous contemplation, the following crystallised.

It seems the mind operates within a single context that may be understood through multiple dimensions. Like a portfolio viewed from different measures of risk, these dimensions are not the context itself but perspectives through which the context may be discerned.

As understanding deepens, judgement gives way to dispassionate observation. Observation gives rise to insight. Insight quiets persistent thought, allowing it to yield to motion. Motion, as the natural state, gives rise to peace.

The mind need not be conquered, only understood. Feelings arise within the mind, are prolonged by the mind, are satisfied by the mind, and are resolved by the mind. They are therefore subject to the mechanics of the mind. Seeing this directly changes one's relationship to experience. What once appeared absolute is recognized as process, and in that recognition, peace becomes possible.

With these words what is spoken points beyond itself and becomes still.

Sitting on this train, I realized something: I don't hate the silence. I just miss you.

I can hear people chatting away. The voices nearest my seat speak of happy times with friends and family. That sort of conversation doesn't grate on me anymore.

I just miss talking about happy times with you. Making happy times with you.

I do wish you'd made time to speak with me. I had so hoped you would.

I know you have your reasons for being as you need to be.

They don't change the fact that I miss my friend.

Unmade

Alone with my thoughts

in the cloying gloom—

the stillness ripples.

She comes to me,

the ghost of the you I knew

when we were us.

I call out,

but my love never answers.

She walks through me.

Green eyes, once so brilliant,

seem hollow.

She sits in our chair,

the one we nested in,

dreaming with our eyes open.

Staring into the middle distance,

lips thin,

expression blank—

all strange now.

Her guilt,

desperate to be grief.

Yearning not for me

but another.

Needing to end us,

not wanting to break me.

Tormented.

I don't want her to feel this way.

Her perfume dissipates—

her scent, all but gone.

She used to smell of home,

or did home smell of her?

Her soft, warm hands,

cold and translucent now.

She fades a little more each day.

I can see through her now.

Doing without thinking—

without feeling.

She will leave me soon too.

You'll leave me

all over again.

I was me

when we were us

and you were mine.

I don't want her to go.

What will I be

when you're gone completely?

Will anyone remember—

or worse, forget?

The world feels unfamiliar.

Its muted colours, air too thick,

time dragged slow—

they confound my senses,

dull my mind.

Please let this be a cruel trick.

You said you were happy.

It doesn't have to be this way.

Staccato.

Each breath

hitches in my dry throat.

A pressure swells in my chest

but never breaks the surface.

Tight.

A constant, heavy ache—

my strange comfort.

I sigh.

Still, no tears come.

When did I become so stunted?

I wish I was more.

I wish I was enough.

How can I be?

Where have we gone?

I'm sorry for asking again.

Is there nothing I can do?

I was yours.

These last thoughts

echo through me, ceaseless.

With one choice,

I am no one.

I'm here,

at the end of always,

forever.

Just.

Me.

I wrote "Unmade" to process the grief I felt when my relationship came to an end. It served its purpose to show me some of the complex emotions I felt at the time. I welcome any thoughts.

Darling,

​

There are things I never said to you. Not because they were untrue…but because saying them now would ask something of you that I have no right to ask.

​

Time has passed since we last belonged in one another’s lives. And somewhere in that time…I came to understand something I couldn’t see while I was inside it.

​

I used to think love was directed at someone. A feeling we fall into. A thing given, received, and eventually lost.

​

I don’t believe that anymore.

​

I think love is a state of being.

​

To love a person is one expression of that state.

To love life itself is another.

​

And slowly… after all this time…I realised I had not let go because there was nothing to let go of.

​

Trust me…I tried.

​

There were months where I wanted badly to become indifferent. To reduce what we were into a lesson…or a memory…or something neatly finished.

​

I wanted to think of you without warmth. To reach the point where your name no longer altered the atmosphere of a room in my mind.

​

But every attempt felt dishonest.

​

Because when I say “I love you”…I do not simply mean that I admired you…or desired you…or enjoyed being near you.

​

Those things are too small for what the words carry.

​

Perhaps I mean them in their most naïve sense —

that my whole being seems to be glad that you are.

​

And…in truth…still is.

​

Not in the way that asks for your return.

Not in the way that refuses to let life move forward.

​

You have your life now. And I have mine.

​

I would not disturb the peace of that for either of us.

​

But I no longer think love begins when we meet someone…

nor ends when they leave.

​

I think it simply changes shape. It becomes quieter. Less possessive. Less afraid.

​

More like a kind of recognition woven into the way we move through life.

​

Sometimes, in ordinary moments, I still think of you. Passing strangers. Mornings on the train. Certain evenings.

​

The particular quiet that arrives just after rain…when the air smells like earth again.

​

And when it happens…there is no real sadness in it anymore. Only gratitude that, for a brief time, I got to know you at all.

​

Maybe that is all love ever was.

​

Not the promise that something lasts forever…but the strange and beautiful relief of discovering that another soul existed here at the same time as yours.

​

I write this post - not to pull you backward. Not to disturb your peace. Not even to be heard, necessarily.

​

Only to place one truth gently into the world. That I loved you.

​

That in some quieter way…I suppose I still do. And that I no longer believe love leaving us is the price we pay for moving on.

​

I don’t expect you’ll ever see this. But if you do…I hope it rests gently on you.

​

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