Letting go is not a single act-
it is art made in fragments.
Like tearing a beloved photograph
Pixel by pixel
until smile fades.

It begins with silence,
the kind that grows like moss
over memory.
You stop correcting their name
when people ask.
You stop replaying the what-ifs
like your breath depends on them

It is an unlearning-
of their laugh, their scent,
their rhythm when they walked away.
You erase them
not with fire,
but with absence.

There's no applause in this gallery.
No frame for your pain.
Just the brushstroke of each
morning
where you choose not to look back.

You start to fill your lungs with now,
to water seeds you almost forgot
to plant.
You realize your heart
was never meant to be a museum
of people who left,
but a garden
for who you're becoming.

Letting go isn't moving on-
it's moving in.
into yourself.
into peace.
into the blank space
where you finally
begin again

There's a riot behind my ribs
a symphony of shattered thoughts
conducted by anxiety
in a room with no doors.

I wear silence like armor,
but inside-
drums beat with no rhythm,
memories clash like cymbals
and fear hums like a distant engine
that never runs out of gas.

Voices I never invited
shout louder than the ones I need.
They argue in my mind
like lawyers with no case,
pleading guilty to crimes I didn't
commit.

I laugh at the wrong times,
not because I'm happy-
but because laughter is louder
than the screaming
no one else can hear.

Some nights,
the noise is so loud,
I pray for sleep to come
like static to a broken radio.
Not to fix it-
just to blur it out.

But every morning,
I wake to the same frequency-
a mind wired wrong,
but still tuned in.

Him : “You’re nothing without me”
Her  : “I’m nothing with you”

I told him - it’s you not me;
You don’t love yourself enough to love me!

Do not write and hide what's not or what is right.
For when left hidden in the night-
The day will expose it bright!