It was 4:35 in the morning and I was in Los Angeles, California; another sleepless night had accompanied me once again. I laid there on satin sheets, in my California king sized bed, listening to a peculiar sound: Silence. It was just me, my four walls, and an empty journal. What could have possibly been on my mind? One would expect a young woman like me with a life full of chance to be carefree, without a worry in the world. However, it was more than that, as cliché as it may sound, the man of my dreams was on my mind yet again. Mere perfection itself, a profound feeling I had for him, now a memory; I’ve loved and I’ve lost. I reluctantly woke up at 4:35 a.m. constantly. It almost felt like a routine of mine that I hoped would come to an
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He became very aggressive, always breaking something or punching a hole in the wall. It hurt me to see him like that, it hurt to watch him become what people had warned me about. He would just get so angry, for no reason. He couldn’t control it, neither could anyone else around him, he would just turn into a stranger before my eyes. My whole thought process consisted of hurt and fear. How could he not love me anymore? I feared the thought of losing him, but I felt as if I was hopeless. He developed an alcohol addiction and he was self-destructing. He would disappear without notice, call me and break down, and then apologize for his actions. I tried my best to keep him sane in a way because I did not want to see someone I cared about so much fall into a dark …show more content…
I decided instead of lying there in silence, I would do something I haven’t done since I lost him. I sat up from my satin sheets and made my way to my closet, where all my painting supplies were and I sat on a stool. I spent several hours working on a painting, one for him. Throughout the process, I shed a few tears. Later on that day, I made my way to the art gallery, where he and I first met. I sat in the lobby anxiously waiting to speak to the assistant director of the gallery in order to get my painting on display. The assistant director approached me, took a glance at the painting and surprisingly agreed; I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my chest. This was what I needed to move on in life. Before I walked away, she told me all I needed was a display name, and I hesitated. Love is an art, it takes time and effort, but I realized that in order to move on with my life, I had to let him go and be free. After a moment of silence, I then said “The Art of Letting
He became very aggressive, always breaking something or punching a hole in the wall. It hurt me to see him like that, it hurt to watch him become what people had warned me about. He would just get so angry, for no reason. He couldn’t control it, neither could anyone else around him, he would just turn into a stranger before my eyes. My whole thought process consisted of hurt and fear. How could he not love me anymore? I feared the thought of losing him, but I felt as if I was hopeless. He developed an alcohol addiction and he was self-destructing. He would disappear without notice, call me and break down, and then apologize for his actions. I tried my best to keep him sane in a way because I did not want to see someone I cared about so much fall into a dark …show more content…
I decided instead of lying there in silence, I would do something I haven’t done since I lost him. I sat up from my satin sheets and made my way to my closet, where all my painting supplies were and I sat on a stool. I spent several hours working on a painting, one for him. Throughout the process, I shed a few tears. Later on that day, I made my way to the art gallery, where he and I first met. I sat in the lobby anxiously waiting to speak to the assistant director of the gallery in order to get my painting on display. The assistant director approached me, took a glance at the painting and surprisingly agreed; I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my chest. This was what I needed to move on in life. Before I walked away, she told me all I needed was a display name, and I hesitated. Love is an art, it takes time and effort, but I realized that in order to move on with my life, I had to let him go and be free. After a moment of silence, I then said “The Art of Letting