Body image by Erika Arias

A lover isn’t always meant to be our other half; sometimes they’re just a repairman that fixes a few broken parts.

For a long time, I thought I would not be able to find someone who genuinely loved me. The last soul who I fell in love with only loved me for my surface and for my city. I saw the beauty within all the cracked parts of his soul and for him he merely saw a little girl that was lost in the world.

I still remember the night he told me he no longer loved me: “No tengo el esfuerzo para estar contigo” I no longer have the strength to be with you. He looked me in my eyes on Calle Lombia in Madrid, Spain and told me he no longer loved me. Instead, he found a new lover in Paris. Sweet home Chicago was no longer his muse.

Knowing that was the last time I would ever get to see him again, I broke into a million pieces. I found myself returning home to emptiness. A psychologist told me to write him a letter that would never be sent, but the unheard words didn’t help.

From there, I thought the love from an old lover would help heal the cracks in my heart and my overall wellbeing. But instead it filled my wounds with poison, insecurities, and lies that ate at me consistently waking me up with ideas and voices that said, “he’s cheating.”

Was my love not enough? Was I not enough? I’d try to comfort myself by believing that maybe I am meant to be alone. That maybe this is the burden and curse I must bear.

But then, a few months later, you showed up. Completely out of the blue. What started off as being swept off my feet ended with us talking until 4 AM as if our souls have met in a past life.

You immediately gave me hope for a better tomorrow. And soon the voices in my head weren’t as loud. I didn’t feel so alone. I had you. What started off as a simple hello, ended with cuddles sessions, breakfast dates, late night talks, and later ended in a sweet passion with my legs wrapped around your waist and you whispering to me how much you cared and wanted it.

You revived a big part of me that I thought was dead. Now, I’m left with a new feeling. I no longer have you; for you see, I’m in a poor position from about 672 miles away. The unrequited love is always the worst type of love. But I know, with all the hope and love you have given me, I will be okay. There is hope. You silenced my demons and filled my wounds with light. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

I miss you, I hope you miss me too.

Anonymous writer

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Enjoy Columbian photographer Erika Arias´ body images through a layer of something…

Courtesy of Erika Arias

Courtesy of Erika Arias

Courtesy of Erika Arias

Courtesy of Erika Arias

Courtesy of Erika Arias

Courtesy of Erika Arias

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