The Love That Came at Dawn… and Left in Silence | by Erismar Nascimento | Jul, 2025

By Erismar Nascimento

It was an intense relationship.
One of those that feel handwritten by fate. Full of passion, desire, love, fantasies, and trust. With every conversation, every heartfelt exchange, we built a bridge between two souls that seemed to recognize each other. We opened up, we surrendered. We spoke about fears, traumas, and dreams. And then… it all ended.

No warning.

He changed. Disappeared. And that silence tore me apart inside. The shock was so deep, I thought I’d never be the same again. But as the universe often surprises us, after a long night of conversation, something within me — something I thought had died — was reignited. A feeling I never thought I’d feel again.

I remember the date like a tattoo carved into my soul. An unforgettable day. I even thought about getting his name and that moment tattooed, because true love doesn’t fade.

It all started with a phone call. I called to clarify something about my life, and he kindly answered. The conversation stretched on. Messages were exchanged. Curiosity sparked. I asked if he was married. He said no — he lived with his mother and sister. I was surprised. Such an intelligent man, single? He said it was a choice. And asked the same about me.

I told him about my past. About an abusive relationship that left me with scars. He listened. Gave advice. Complimented my personality — always with respect. The conversations became warmer, turning into late-night confessions and fantasies. Then, he confessed a desire. Nervous, I confessed mine too. After hesitating a lot, I asked:

— Would you have the courage to be with me?
— Of course. I just want to make you happy — he said.

My heart raced.

I felt alive again. For the first time in years, I desired someone with both body and soul. We agreed to meet at sunrise. We were so anxious, we couldn’t sleep. By 9 a.m., we were texting again, and at 1 p.m., he called:

— I’m done with what I had to do. I’m coming to get you.

And then he arrived. Opened the car door. Polite. Handsome. Charming. Graying hair. Well-groomed beard. Enchanting smile. Captivating voice. White shirt, blue jeans, and a perfume that lingered on me for days. We went to a motel — my first time ever. And in that place, that man gave me back something I had lost: a sense of safety.

He was patient. Sweet. Touched me gently, respected every limit, freed me from my past. I surrendered like never before. In the days that followed, we became part of each other’s routine. Daily messages, care, affection. We talked about fears, pain, hopes. We became confidants. And we fell in love — without ever promising each other anything.

He took me to places I’d never been. Visited my apartment. We shared simple moments filled with meaning. I called him “love.” He did too. Everything was so beautiful… until he started to change.

The messages became less frequent. The affection cooled. Attention turned into silence. And silence became pain. I started to panic. I overwhelmed him with questions. Sometimes, I was too harsh. He answered kindly, but kept his distance. One day, he sent me a calm, respectful voice message, explaining what he was going through.

We met again. Visited a museum. There, he began sending me videos about narcissistic people. And with each video, he explained:

— That’s what I lived through before. Now I understand what happened to me.

He was emotionally shaken. A woman from his past — toxic, dishonest — had returned to haunt him. I listened. With pain and patience. I wanted to be the opposite of what she was. I wanted to be his shelter.

But the distance was driving me mad. I started acting out of insecurity. Sent impulsive messages. Demanded answers. He took longer to reply. And the more he stayed silent, the louder I became.

— I’m not a toy. I love you! But what you’re doing is betrayal! I need an answer!

Until finally, he spoke. Said that woman still affected him. That the past still hurt. Yet he denied feeling anything for her now. I stood firm:

— I’m here for you. I’ve been through this. You’re not alone.
And with my heart in my hands, I asked:
— Will you marry me?

He read the message. But didn’t answer.

The next day, I received his final words:
“Please, I’m not in the headspace for anything. I just want to be alone and not talk to anyone. I’m going to travel, clear my mind. Hope you understand. Thank you.”

I tried to reply. But he had already blocked me. And I… was left with nothing.

I tried to be everything for him that no one had ever been for me. I gave my soul, my most vulnerable feelings. I put aside my fears, my trauma. I created memories. Smiled for both of us, even on my darkest days. I gave my time, my embrace, my essence. I shaped myself to his expectations, believing love would be enough.

But he left. Took dreams, unspoken words, promises that never existed. He didn’t take my love — because he never truly accepted it.

Months later, driven by longing, I went to the place where he worked. I spoke to a kind lady from a nearby restaurant. She welcomed me and asked me to wait. Minutes later, he showed up… in the same car… wearing the same clothes he had on the day we met. He opened the door, saw me… and left. Without a word.

I broke down. Cried, trembled. That woman embraced me without even knowing who I was. Gave me water, comfort, silence. Hours later, I made it home.

Sometime later, I spoke to one of his friends.
— I told him to reach out to you, to talk…
— But he told me there was no point anymore.

That’s when I accepted it. Let myself grieve. Closed the chapter. And learned.

Because true love… doesn’t demand reciprocity. It simply gives.

So, you are my forbidden love — not for lack of feeling, but because life simply didn’t know how to allow us. Maybe it was the wrong time, the wrong circumstances, or the choices that had to be made — even when the heart begged for another path. We found each other in soul, but got lost in reality. You are the kind of love that lived in the eyes, the touch, the peace I felt when you were near — but never had time to become a home. And even as I move forward, there are still days when I catch myself imagining what it would’ve been like if we’d had a chance… if the world had been kinder to what we felt.

You were love, even without a proper story.
You were home, even without a roof.
You were, perhaps, the truest feeling I’ve ever had…
in something that could never fully be lived.