It’s been a year.
No
maybe two.
And I had no idea
you would affect me this much.
For a while
you were everywhere.
In my habits.
In my playlists.
In the way I measured new people
against a memory
that wasn’t even kind to me.
But now
I’m starting to forget you.
Your touch.
Your smile.
The way my world
once revolved around you
like I had no gravity of my own.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe this is what healing
actually looks like.
Not fireworks.
Not a dramatic goodbye.
Just your name
feeling lighter
when I say it in my head.
Just your face
getting harder to picture
without effort.
I used to think letting go
would feel like losing something.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like
making space.
Like stepping into a new chapter—
or maybe
finally closing the one
I kept rereading
hoping the ending would change.
It’s been a year.
Maybe two.
And for the first time,
you feel
like the past
instead of the center of my present
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 10:43 AM UTC
It’s been a year.
No
maybe two.
And I had no idea
you would affect me this much.
For a while
you were everywhere.
In my habits.
In my playlists.
In the way I measured new people
against a memory
that wasn’t even kind to me.
But now
I’m starting to forget you.
Your touch.
Your smile.
The way my world
once revolved around you
like I had no gravity of my own.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe this is what healing
actually looks like.
Not fireworks.
Not a dramatic goodbye.
Just your name
feeling lighter
when I say it in my head.
Just your face
getting harder to picture
without effort.
I used to think letting go
would feel like losing something.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like
making space.
Like stepping into a new chapter—
or maybe
finally closing the one
I kept rereading
hoping the ending would change.
It’s been a year.
Maybe two.
And for the first time,
you feel
like the past
instead of the center of my present