Letting go wasn’t a choice — it was a necessity. I wrote you letters I never sent, cried until I was numb, and slowly began reclaiming the pieces of myself I had given away. I learned that healing isn’t linear and that some days, loving you still felt like breathing. But I kept waking up, kept moving forward, hoping that someday the ache would fade.Letting go wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment. It was a series of small, painful decisions. Deleting your number, unfollowing your social media, boxing up the things you left behind. It was waking up every day and deciding to keep going, even when my heart ached with the absence of you.

But eventually, the pain softened. The memories stopped feeling like knives, and I started breathing without feeling like the world was collapsing. Letting go didn’t mean I stopped loving you — it meant I started loving myself more. It was a thousand tiny choices, made over and over again. It was throwing away the love notes you left on my mirror, and finally taking your pictures down, poured my heartbreak into journals, and cried until my body was too exhausted to feel anything. And slowly, the pain dulled. The ache became a hum instead of a scream.