Love Like A Storm: Fierce and Fleeting

I don’t love him anymore. I keep repeating the words in my mind, testing their truth. With each repetition, they feel a little more accurate.

It baffles me how intensely I loved him — a man I’d known for only two weeks. Even that wasn’t proper knowing, not the kind built through time or shared moments, but something that defied logic. The love was all-encompassing, absolute. It didn’t ask for explanations.

And now? It baffles me even more how easily I stepped out of it, and how effortlessly it released me.

He left before any of this happened — before my heart could catch up, before I could fall out of love on my own terms. No goodbye. I wondered if that was cruel, an utter lack of care. Or if it was simply practical — walking away cleanly rather than pretending there was still something when clearly there wasn’t.

For a while, I tried to rationalize the hurt. Should I grieve someone who left so easily? Someone who chose convenience over closure? But the answer always came back the same: It doesn’t matter. I love him.

And I did. I loved him so deeply that his leaving didn’t feel like betrayal or abandonment. It was something my love could absorb, dissolve, and transform into more love. There was no resentment — just an unbinding ocean of love that swept everything else away.

Then, four weeks later, a voice inside me casually stated: I don’t love him anymore. Just like that. Out of nowhere.

Where did it go, that all-consuming love? That ocean I thought would last forever? It vanished without a ripple. One day, it was everything; the next, it was nothing.

Now, there’s only blunt indifference. That’s the most disorienting part. How does love that profound become irrelevant so quickly?

It was love, no doubt — but perhaps not the kind I thought. Not an ocean, but a storm — fierce and fleeting. Something that needed to rage, to pour itself out, and then pass.

Perhaps it’s only fitting that a love that arrived without warning also departed without warning.

The sky is clear now, the air still. There’s a strange calm, the kind that only settles after a tempest has blown through.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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