Letters to a Love Lost

Love has a peculiar way of getting caught in reflections. In the puddles that shimmer after a storm, in the fogged windows of a café, in the pupils of someone who will never dare to say what they truly feel. Astrid used to laugh when I talked about these things, saying I always looked for poetry where there was nothing but glass and water.

"You're like a broken mirror," she told me once, as she turned her coffee cup between her hands.

"Broken? Is that good or bad?" I asked, pretending to be offended.

"It depends. Sometimes, a broken mirror reflects more things than a perfect one."

I never fully understood what she meant by that. Maybe Astrid saw something in me that I couldn't see myself. Now, looking back, I think the cracks she talked about were nothing more than my fears, the ones I never dared to face. My reflection was fractured because I hid behind my insecurities, my silences, my doubts. And in those cracks, Astrid found something that intrigued her—something she perhaps wanted to fix.

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A Journey Into the Past

There was a place Astrid always insisted on taking me to. It was a small, hidden beach, far from tourist trails, where the waves crashed against the rocks with an almost violent force.

"This is my favorite place in the world," she said, as she led me by the hand down the path to the shore.

The wind blew hard, disheveling her hair and filling the air with the salty aroma of the sea. I could hear the roar of the waves in the distance, a raw and powerful sound that seemed to echo through my thoughts.

"Why here?" I asked her as we sat on a rock dampened by the sea breeze.

Astrid stayed silent for a moment, gazing at the waves that relentlessly crashed against the rocks.

"Because here, I can be small."

Her words caught me off guard.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

"Sometimes it is. The world forces us to be big all the time, to carry things we can't always handle. Here, by the sea, I can be small."

I watched her profile as she spoke—the way her hair danced with the wind, the brightness in her eyes as they followed the waves. In that moment, I wanted to tell her she didn't need to carry anything alone, that I would be there to bear any weight life placed upon her. But the words got stuck in my throat, as if an invisible barrier kept me from being completely honest with her.

The sea kept roaring, indifferent to my silences.

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The Growing Fracture

Over time, I realized there was something in me that always put distance between us, even when we were closer than ever. Maybe it was my fear of not being enough, or maybe it was the idea that a love as pure as Astrid's couldn't last.

There were nights I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, while my mind repeated the same questions over and over. What did Astrid see in me? What kept her by my side? Her love was like a warm light that illuminated every dark corner of my soul, but instead of feeling grateful, I felt exposed. And that exposure terrified me.

"What's on your mind?" she asked me one night, as we lay together, her head resting on my chest.

I wanted to tell her the truth—that I was afraid she would someday realize I wasn't enough for her. But instead, I lied.

"Nothing important. I'm just tired."

Astrid said nothing, but her fingers stopped drawing circles on my chest, and I felt something break between us—something I hadn't even realized was there. Her silence weighed more than any words.

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The Nickname Born From a Promise

It was during one of our walks through the park that I finally told her what I had been thinking for weeks.

"Do you know who you remind me of?" I said as we walked along a path covered in dry leaves.

"Who?" she asked, with a curious smile.

"Eurydice."

Astrid frowned, clearly confused.

"The one from the Greek myth?"

I nodded, feeling a pang of nervousness. Of course, I had already told her the myth before, but this was the first time I told her I saw something of Eurydice in her.

"She was the love of Orpheus, someone he was willing to challenge Hades himself for. But…"

I stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

"But what?" Astrid insisted.

"But he lost her because he couldn't trust enough."

Astrid stayed silent for a moment, as if processing my words.

"That's sad," she said finally.

"It is. But it's also beautiful, because he loved her enough to try."

In that moment, I knew she would be my Eurydice. Not because I wanted to repeat Orpheus's tragedy, but because I felt our love was destined to be something immense, something that could challenge even the gods.

But what I didn't know was that, like Orpheus, my lack of trust would be my downfall.

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The Reflection He Refused to See

With every passing day, I felt that Astrid's love was like a mirror, showing me everything I could be, but also everything I was terrified to face. In her eyes, I saw a reflection of who I wanted to be, but also of everything I lacked. And instead of embracing that light, I began to pull away from it, as if the intensity of her love was too much to hold.

The problem wasn't Astrid. The problem was me, and the cracks inside me—those she had seen from the beginning. But in the end, what Astrid couldn't see was that those cracks didn't want to be mended, because fixing something broken requires courage. And that was something I didn't have.