Healing
doesn’t move in straight lines.
It moves like tides
forward,
backward,
forward again
before you even realize
the shoreline has changed.
One morning
I wake up breathing easier.
Your name feels distant,
like a song I used to know
but can’t quite remember anymore.
I think,
Maybe I’m finally over this.
But the next day
something small happens
a familiar laugh,
a familiar scent,
a memory slipping through the quiet
and suddenly the ache
is brand new again.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Like the wound
never closed at all.
And for a moment
I wonder
if healing is a lie people tell
to make heartbreak sound temporary.
But time
has a strange patience.
Because slowly
something begins to change.
The waves still come,
but they don’t stay as long.
The bad days still happen,
but they lose their grip
a little faster.
What once swallowed
entire weeks
now fades
by the end of a day.
And one day
I notice something quiet
the spaces between the pain
are growing.
Longer breaths.
Lighter steps.
Moments where my chest
feels almost peaceful
without me trying.
Healing
is not a straight road.
It is circles
that grow wider
and softer
each time they return.
Until eventually
the place that once broke you
becomes something
you can walk past
not untouched,
not unchanged,
but no longer bleeding.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 11:59 AM UTC
Healing
doesn’t move in straight lines.
It moves like tides
forward,
backward,
forward again
before you even realize
the shoreline has changed.
One morning
I wake up breathing easier.
Your name feels distant,
like a song I used to know
but can’t quite remember anymore.
I think,
Maybe I’m finally over this.
But the next day
something small happens
a familiar laugh,
a familiar scent,
a memory slipping through the quiet
and suddenly the ache
is brand new again.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Like the wound
never closed at all.
And for a moment
I wonder
if healing is a lie people tell
to make heartbreak sound temporary.
But time
has a strange patience.
Because slowly
something begins to change.
The waves still come,
but they don’t stay as long.
The bad days still happen,
but they lose their grip
a little faster.
What once swallowed
entire weeks
now fades
by the end of a day.
And one day
I notice something quiet
the spaces between the pain
are growing.
Longer breaths.
Lighter steps.
Moments where my chest
feels almost peaceful
without me trying.
Healing
is not a straight road.
It is circles
that grow wider
and softer
each time they return.
Until eventually
the place that once broke you
becomes something
you can walk past
not untouched,
not unchanged,
but no longer bleeding.