The Ledger of Wintered Love

Sky-blue mornings used to carry ease, but now a cold winter fog settles over everything— a quiet proof that life’s journey does not separate heaven and hell as cleanly as we wish it would. The lotus of our love tried to open, fragile, earnest, out of season. I protected it with everything I had, yet even devotion cannot force a bloom in a climate that refuses warmth. Your memory—circling my mind through day and night— shifted from comfort to weight. What felt like companionship became an endless loop of thought, a form of entertainment I never asked for but couldn’t switch off. I gave my love as if loyalty were currency that guaranteed return. You left before the debt matured, and what remains is a balance that still demands to be reckoned with— a debt of love unpaid, pressing against my heart like a quiet, persistent grief. In the night mirror, I meet the version of myself that survived the collapse— not defeated, just stripped of illusion. I finally understand: even the gentlest sky can turn cold, even the brightest lotus can drown in winter, and even the purest love can break without ever being held properly.