Anguish. She has left, she is gone. “Stop emailing me. Don’t send me any more letters. You are draining, suffocating, and you only ever think about yourself, never what I need.”
Anguish. No more contact? But we are meant to be together, for our love is rare. We will walk the same path in this and every future lifetime. Her words, not mine, spoken after we had met at the Buddhist centre. Years of isolation in the darkness of self makes one want to trust the hand that reaches out, which offers a future of smiles and tenderness.
