In the recent months, I have been reflecting on letting go of someone I loved deeply and how it has been both a challenge and a gift. Though we didn’t share a long history, our connection felt like a rare, enduring bond that had felt like a lifetime of passion and care. In that brief time, I felt truly seen and accepted in a way that gave me hope, as if a new world had opened. Now, in releasing that dream, I’ve come to see that each relationship, whether brief or lasting; has shaped my understanding of how I wish to love and be loved.

Throughout my dating journey, I’ve met incredible people. Each connection has offered unique lessons, insights, and reflections of who I am and who I want to become. There’s a richness to those experiences, even when they don’t lead to lasting partnership. They remind me of the qualities I admire in others and in myself; the qualities that, with time, will align in a way that feels right. Rather than giving up on finding love, I see these relationships as part of a continuous journey that strengthens my vision of the life and love I want to create.

The more I’ve grown, the clearer I’ve become on the ways I want to give and receive love. I’m learning that love, at its best, feels like a balance of freedom and presence, moments of vulnerability and self-respect. As I move forward, I’m more intentional about what I want from a partner; qualities that foster a sense of mutual respect, shared values, and an unspoken understanding. My experiences have shown me that love thrives not when it’s forced or pursued out of fear but when it’s nurtured from a place of genuine connection and trust.
Letting go of a deep love has brought me closer to my purpose, reminded me of my strength, and deepened my faith in the journey.

Moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind the beauty of what we shared; instead, I carry it with me, allowing it to fuel my hope for the future. I honor what was, release it with love, and step forward with renewed clarity. This journey is far from over; I remain open, curious, and hopeful, trusting that each new connection will bring me closer to a love that feels like home.

—

Heartbreak, a bitter medicine,
teaches me where I ache and why,
where I bend and where I break,
where I must learn to stand alone.

In each loss, a deeper knowing,
a softening to love’s open arms,
and the courage to seek,
again and again,
a love that feels like home.

— Sincerely, Boris

I remember praying to you, and you did not answer.  
I was told God listened to His children,  
But you sure didn't listen to me.  
I was told to fast so my prayers could be answered quickly,  
I starved myself from food, fed only on prayer and faith for days,  
Hoping for some good but only ended in the hospital.  
You didn't answer.  

My clothes were drenched in tears,  
I felt myself dehydrated.  
I prayed from dusk till dawn,  
But still no answer.  

That pain I felt isn't there anymore.  
Not because things are finally looking up,  
It's because I'm losing faith.  
I feel numb to all the pain.  
You weren't there when I needed you the most.  

All those people lied to me when they said you come in times of need.  
They said if God doesn't answer,  
It's because He knows one can handle it.  
But here I am thinking that my definition of "handle" and His aren't the same.  
Unless, if wishing to die, isolation, and sh is His definition,  
Then I guess I'm handling everything perfectly.

Ах, это сладкое мгновенье
Ты доставляешь мне на пике возбужденья;
Пытаясь описать это невероятное чувство,
В голове всплывает лишь термин “искусство”…

Будто рисуя портрет живописный,  
Водишь по телу рукой словно кистью.
Вот и кончается наша романтичная пьеса:
Сливочный оргазм – грандиозный финал страстного секса!

Too long I've implored Love's ministry,
Too long grim silence has reigned;
If Love would only beckon to me
No bonds could keep me constrained

What foolishness might I contemplate,
Deeming it necessity?
Through weeds and thorns, barefoot I would run,
If Love should beckon to me

Ignoring the rules of Good Judgment,
And placing my trust in Chance,
I'd fly to Love, bounding all hurdles,
With nary a backward glance

So weary am I of solitude,
So bereft of joy and hope;
Time has carried all my dreams of Love
To realms far beyond my heart's scope

But I've heard that Love can resurrect
A dream lying cold in its grave;
And so I cling to that beacon of hope,
Despite all the tears that I gave

I want to feel the euphoria
Of falling under Love's spell;
(Pay no heed to the years that I wear --
Youth had its own tales to tell)

Yes, at times Love can seem indifferent --
Cruel and willfully cunning;
But I'll be neither judge nor jury . . .
Should Love beckon, I'll come running!

The juxtaposition betwixt
Hope & agony is often sharp,
Short but sudden.
Yet, is pain not longer suffered
All the times worse?
And of the flames snuffed?
Is this not the worst?
Of our fatigues,
They are addressed only in comfort,
Dressed by the garbs of one who understands
Our needs for medicine.
For the soul downtrodden
And the body corrupted,
As healers or like doctors,
Those whom we love enough to be as companions.
For the best remedy of any wound is care,
Borne out of love & not necessity
But because they wish to be there.

I don't know much,
Then l do know a lot,
I don't know what's true,
But I know what's not;

What I know true and full,
Binds me together firm,
A simple truth breathing,
Potent red, sinster green;

I've loved you completely,
Vivid rich and vast,
That I know with awe,
I miss your eyes;

My mind drowns in them,
Such grace and comfort,
You'll never leave my mind,
I love you, my moon baby.

we carry our memories like they're a burden,
unspoken, but hopeful that someone, someday
might be brave enough to take a step forward
and share in that weight of invisible pain.
and all that we hold, like a prayer to the broken,
so lonely that silence falls down like a veil,
are hearts, torn and scarred, but bleeding no longer,
in hope that someone might accept them someday.

Suddenly you're 29 years old and you ve lost all your
friends from high school. You're sure they don't even remember you, but at the same time they ask your sister what you're up to and a friend's mum calls her by your name sometimes.

You dream of being 19 again, a backpack full of heavy books and stones you needed for art class that gave you back pain. You remember your teacher telling that you're not going to get far, but at the same time you remember your past successes and the teachers who believed in you.

you are reminded of being 9, being new to a country and learning its language. You feel made fun of, but at the same time you found two friends on the very first day of school and you still have the presents
they gave you 20 years ago.

You remember how you cried when your cousin was born two years after you because you did not want your grandfather to love anyone more than you, and how he's been gone for as long as you'd known him.

And you go on living.

You stay one morning longer, and you go on living.
You say your goodbyes and you go on living.

You go on living.