Valentine’s Day was supposed to be our special day. A day filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of each other’s company. We had planned everything—a romantic dinner, a scenic drive under the moonlight, and the promise of forever. But fate had a different plan. Instead of holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings, I found myself clutching onto memories as she slipped away, leaving me in a world that suddenly felt unbearably empty.
The evening started beautifully. She wore a red dress that shimmered in the dim light, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I remember how she laughed, a sound so pure it felt like music to my soul. We drove through the city, watching the streets lined with couples celebrating love, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited us.
The accident happened so fast. One moment, we were singing along to our favorite song, and the next, there was a blinding light, the screech of tires, and the shattering of glass. When I opened my eyes, everything was a blur—sirens wailing, people shouting, and the overwhelming smell of gasoline. I turned to her, hoping—praying—that she would look back at me and tell me she was okay. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
I screamed her name, my voice cracking with desperation. Paramedics pulled me away, their faces grim as they worked tirelessly to save her. But deep down, I knew. I could feel it in the way the world suddenly felt so silent, so cold. She was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Hours later, in the sterile white walls of the hospital, a doctor confirmed what I already knew. She was gone. My love, my future, my everything—vanished in a single, cruel instant. I felt like I had been ripped apart, left to wander through life with a hollow heart and an aching soul.
Valentine’s Day is no longer a day of love for me. It is a painful reminder of what I lost, of the life we were supposed to have. Every year, I visit the spot where it happened, leaving a single red rose—a symbol of the love that still lingers, even in death. Some say time heals all wounds, but how do you heal when the person who was your heart is gone?
Love is supposed to be eternal, but so is grief. I lost her forever that night, but in my memories, in my dreams, she still lives on. I close my eyes, and I can hear her laughter. I can feel her touch. And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, it’s as if she never left.
