Lovingheart

To Love, To Lose, To Heal is a poignant journey through love, heartbreak, and self-discovery. It follows a soul who loved deeply, lost painfully, and is now left to pick up the shattered pieces of a heart that once beat for another.

In a world where love is both salvation and destruction, the struggle with lingering emotions, haunting memories, and the weight of what could have been. Torn between holding on and letting go, between the past and an uncertain future, they must confront their pain, their fears, and the truth they’ve been avoiding, healing isn’t about forgetting; 

it’s about finding the strength to live again.

This novel is a raw, intimate exploration of love’s beautiful agony, the wounds it leaves behind, and the resilience it takes to rise again. To Love, To Lose, To Heal is for anyone who has ever loved too much, lost too deeply, and still found the courage to heal.

To Love, To Lose, To Heal

Whenever I love, I love too much. I give too much. I pour everything, my heart, my time, my trust until there's nothing left of me but the hollow echo of what once was. And when it's over, when they've taken all they could carry, I am the one left behind, empty-handed and aching.

So tell me, why would anyone look at me and say, Give love a chance? Why would they tell me I'm building walls when I am only shielding what remains? Because when I didn't have walls, they didn't cherish me. They broke me. They shattered the person I was trying so hard to be. And yet, every time I tried again, every time I gave in, I found myself back at the same ending, bleeding, broken, abandoned.

If love was meant to be a gamble, why is it that every time I play, I lose more than what I bet? I don't just lose love, I lose faith. I lose trust. I lose the fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, not all of them are the same. But if not all men are the same, then why do only the wrong ones find me? Why does my heart seem to be a beacon for those who only know how to take? Do I attract them, or do they sense something in me, something that makes them believe I will forgive, endure, and stay?

I've asked myself this over and over again. Do I have a selective aura, one that repels the good and invites the wicked? Or is it that the good ones never even glance my way? I know I am beautiful, not in a way that demands arrogance, but in a way that demands self respect. And if my beauty is enough to make a man walk away because he thinks he cannot measure up, then let him walk. I will not darken my ligh and myself for the comfort of another.

But no matter how much I love myself, no matter how much I swear I do not need anyone, the world only sees what it wants to see. They don't see the silent pain, the nights spent choking on Tears on the weight of what was lost. They don't see the loneliness buried beneath the pride, the way my heart still aches despite every wall I've built.

No, they only see the sharp edges I've crafted to keep myself safe, and they call me cold. They call me heartless.

Fine. Let me be heartless. If that is what it takes to survive, then I will embrace it. I did not ask for this armor, I forged it from every betrayal, every disappointment, every love that promised forever but lasted only a moment. I did not choose to be like this, but I choose to stay like this. Because to be anything else is to risk breaking all over again.

So here's to us, the ones who once loved too much and lost too much. The ones who learned that love is not always kind, not always gentle, not always worth the scars it leaves behind. If they call us heartless, then let them. Because maybe, just maybe, this is what survival looks like.

Cheers to the Heartless Ones