When the Sun Forgot to Rise (A Letter I Never Sent — Episode 1)

Dear Dami,

I’ve rewritten this letter more times than I’ve prayed this year, and maybe that says everything.

When I met you, I thought I was meeting peace. You spoke in promises, and I, foolishly, mistook them for prophecies. I was a girl who had mastered survival but not balance. Then you came, soft and certain, saying I was “home.” I believed you. I always believed beautiful lies that sounded like faith.

At first, we were everything they said love should be: loud laughter, quiet prayers, intertwined dreams. But somewhere between good morning and I’ll call you later, something shifted. You started shrinking me, not with words, but with silence. And I stayed, because society taught me to protect love even when it stopped protecting me.

They said, “You’re lucky to have him.”
So I kept swallowing my pain with gratitude.
They said, “You’re too emotional.”
So I stopped speaking when I wanted to scream.
They said, “Be patient.”
So I called my heartbreak a phase.

But what no one told me was that sometimes love isn’t lost; it’s misplaced, buried under the weight of trying to be everything but yourself.

You once asked why I was distant. I wish I had told you that I wasn’t distant, I was disappearing. Every compromise took a piece of me. Every moment I smiled through the ache, I felt myself fading into the version you wanted, not the woman I was becoming.

The day I saw you with her, I didn’t cry immediately. I remember standing still, like a statue in my own life, wondering if love was supposed to humiliate before it healed. I didn’t hate you, not really. I hated the version of myself that kept choosing your comfort over my clarity.

And then, something sacred happened.
One morning, the sun didn’t rise. The sky stayed grey, and I thought maybe God was giving me a metaphor, that sometimes, even light needs rest. That morning, I stopped waiting for you.

I poured every leftover hope into myself. I bought a mirror. I wrote again. I danced barefoot in my kitchen. I prayed not for you, but for the girl I lost trying to deserve you. And when I finally looked at my reflection, I didn’t see heartbreak; I saw balance. I saw peace that didn’t need validation.

So, Dami, this isn’t revenge. This is resurrection.
You were the storm that taught me how to anchor myself.
You were the noise that made silence sound like music.
And though I once begged God to keep you, now I thank Him for letting you go.

Because the truth is, you never took the light.
You only blocked it for a while.

Sincerely,
Amara
(The girl who finally became her own sunrise)

---

🌅 Author’s Note

This is Episode 1 of my new fictional series — “Letters I Never Sent.”
Each episode unfolds a new emotional chapter: love, betrayal, balance, and rediscovery.