I’m coming to terms with the fact that I might never be able to let go, that I’m probably never going to be the way I was. I suppose that’s not entirely horrible.
I’m finding that anything, everything, everyone we come across in life change us in a way that molds us into who we are ultimately destined to become. That some have more of a long-lasting effect on our soul despite an evanescent presence. This is an ironic reality, but a reality all the same.
I think it’s time to finally move on, time to allow my sorrow to become my strength, time to embrace who I’ve become. It’s time to acknowledge that you were here, but that you are now gone, and that that’s okay. It’s time to learn how to breathe again.