Can we ever truly walk away from someone we really love — someone we deeply love, someone we were in love with? Can we ever really close the door on that kind of love, I mean FUCK, Where do we even begin to make that decision!

We like to tell ourselves that time heals everything, that distance makes the heart forget, that we’ll eventually move on and meet someone else who fills the spaces they once did. But does that ever really happen when your soul still aches for someone you can’t have? How do we pretend we’re healed? How do we pretend that it’s okay to watch them love another — to see them laugh, to see them move on, to see them build a life without you — while your heart quietly shatters in the background?

Because we do pretend, don’t we? We pretend we’re okay. We smile when their name comes up. We say, “I’m happy for them,” when deep down, a small, quiet part of us whispers, “That should’ve been me.”

I’ve loved somebody for a long, long time. For many years. And the hardest part isn’t that I stopped loving them, it’s that I still do. It’s that I know I can’t be with them, even though my heart still wants to be. It’s that somewhere inside me, I know they love me too — maybe not in the way they used to, or maybe not in the way I wish they would, or maybe the love story in my head plays out in theirs — but whichever way the love is still there.

And yet, we still can’t be together.

That’s one of the saddest facts about love, isn’t it? That sometimes love isn’t enough. That you can meet someone who feels like home, who feels like your mirror, your heart, your peace, and still, for a thousand reasons, you can’t make it work.

We cross paths with people all our lives. People who teach us something, people who change us, people who awaken something in us that never existed before. But it’s rare — almost painfully rare — that we meet someone who feels like they were meant for us, and yet we can’t keep them.

Why is that? Why does timing always seem to work against love? Why does the universe bring two souls together only to cruelly frisking tear them apart?

Some say the universe has a plan. That if two people are meant to be together, they will find their way back to each other, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much changes. But what if that’s not true?

What if not all soulmates are meant to stay?

What if the universe sends us certain people not to keep, but to teach us — to show us what love could be, to open our hearts, to break down our walls, to awaken us to a deeper understanding of ourselves?

Maybe that’s why the timing never seems right. Maybe the universe isn’t cruel, maybe it’s precise. Maybe it knows that we need to grow, to evolve, to learn lessons we wouldn’t have if we’d stayed where we were.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Because love, real love, doesn’t just fade with logic or understanding. You can rationalise it all you want. You can tell yourself, “It wasn’t meant to be,” but your heart doesn’t care about reason. It only knows what it feels.

What is it about love that breaks us so deeply? What is it about love that makes us cling to every single word they ever said to us, every moment, every look, every memory?

It’s almost like the mind becomes a museum of everything they ever gave us, every text, every song, every smile, every promise. The sad bloody thing is, we revisit that museum over and over again, because it’s all we have left of them.

We cling to hope, don’t we? I know I do, I still keep the dream alive in my head, and I think that’s why when im rejected the pain cuts deep. Even when we know, deep down, there probably isn’t any. We hold on to the tiniest thread, a look, a message, a song that feels like a sign, we look for synchronicity and we convince ourselves that maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance. For me I feel the universe has random play with my head, I can drive away and our song will play, or I will see their name on the side of a van etc, there are always signs.

But the truth is, love doesn’t always find its way back. Sometimes the chapter just ends, no matter how much we wish it didn’t. Sometimes the universe delivers too early, or too late. And that’s one of the most heartbreaking things about being human, to love someone with everything you have, and to know that timing, circumstance, or fate decided otherwise.

We live in a world obsessed with closure. We’re told that every story must have an ending, that healing means letting go completely, that moving on means you no longer care. But love doesn’t work like that. How much easier would life be, if there was always closure, Kerrys world would be a peaceful world for sure.

Sometimes the door doesn’t close neatly. Sometimes the person you loved becomes a ghost you carry quietly inside you. You learn to live with the ache, to smile through the longing, to accept that some loves don’t fade, they just change shape.

You learn to live in a world where they exist, but not with you and that takes strength, more strength than most people will ever realise.

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to breathe again in a world that no longer holds what you once dreamed of. It means learning how to hold both the pain and the gratitude — the sadness of what never was, and the beauty of having loved that deeply at all.

Maybe love isn’t meant to make sense. Maybe it’s not about happy endings or perfect timing. Maybe it’s about connection, raw, real, and often inconvenient, I wished I could deliver you the answers, but no expert or guru in the world, will ever give you the answers you want to hear, and most often the answers already lie within. I really personally study myself and work on myself deeply, and I found in most relationships I have had, I’ve already know the answers.

And maybe the people we can’t have are the ones who shape us the most. They show us what love truly means, not just in romance, but in patience, in loss, in letting go with grace.

Because sometimes, the bravest kind of love is the one that continues quietly, without expectation, without return, without possession. The kind of love that says, “I’ll always care for you, even if I can’t have you, I just want you to be happy”, maybe real love is putting that other person first, before yourself.

And maybe that’s what it means to walk away, not to stop loving, but to love differently. To love from afar. To love silently. To love enough to let them go.

Love isn’t always fair. It isn’t always kind. But it’s real. It’s the most human thing we ever get to experience. And even when it breaks us, even when it leaves us with more questions than answers, it’s still worth it — because to have loved deeply, truly, vulnerably… that’s what makes life mean something.

So maybe we never truly walk away from someone we love. Maybe they just become part of us — forever woven into the story of who we are.

And maybe that’s okay… and I tell myself regularly, Kerry its okay to love and let go…