I’m sorry for the times I silenced my voice,
Swallowing words to keep the peace.
For dimming my light to soften the shadows,
And calling it compromise.

I’m sorry for doubting my worth,
For the moments I let self-blame consume me.
For believing I wasn’t enough,
And letting pain define who I was.

I’m sorry for hiding parts of me,
Thinking they were too much to share.
For shrinking,
Thinking smallness would keep me safe.

I’m sorry for believing love meant endurance,
That devotion was measured in sacrifice.
For holding myself to an unyielding fire,
Just to prove I could stand the heat.

But today, I see it now—
Strength is not the absence of breaking.
It’s the courage to gather the pieces
And build something whole.

Today, I apologize to the mirror.
Not for the tears I shed,
But for the years I spent believing
I was too much or never enough.

Today, I give myself permission
To stand tall,
To embrace the parts of me I tried to hide.
I forgive myself.
And in that forgiveness,
I find the freedom to begin.

Today, I choose to love myself
Without apology.

The cold has a memory —
it lingers in the corners of empty rooms,
settles into the spaces you once filled.

No matter how many layers I wear,
it finds a way to my skin,
a whisper of what used to be warmth.

The windows rattle,
the floor sighs under footsteps that aren’t yours,
and I tell myself it’s just the season.

But the truth is,
it’s not the winter that chills me —
it’s the memory of you.

There are days when the past
hits me like an uninvited guest,
its presence sharp, unwelcome.
Memories once soft and warm
now turn into needles,
pricking at the places I thought were healed.

I remember laughter that filled the air,
and the way we used to talk like time had no hold on us.
But now those moments feel foreign,
like ghosts drifting in a forgotten room.

The sting of a kiss that meant everything
now lingers like a wound that refuses to close.

I wish I could erase it all,
but even the hurt holds pieces of us
that I’m not ready to let go of.

The silence between us is deafening —
A chasm carved by all we left unsaid.
Each word we swallowed lingers,
A ghost that haunts the empty space.

I hear your absence in the quiet.
The stillness hums with what was once ours —
Laughter tangled in whispered promises,
Love unspoken but deeply known.

But now, I only hear the questions.
Do you miss the way my voice
Filled the silence like sunlight?
Do your thoughts wander back to me
When the night grows too long?

I reach for words that might mend,
But none can bridge the distance.
So I sit with the silence,
And try to understand
what it’s telling me.

I look in the mirror and see someone softer—
Not weaker,
But worn in a way love tends to leave behind.

There was a time I loved blindly,
Loudly,
Without asking if the ground could hold me.
I called it strength,
But it was fear
Wearing confidence like perfume.

Now, I measure my footsteps.
I pause before giving too much.
I speak, not to be heard—
But to be honest.

You wouldn’t recognize the way I love now.
Not because it’s gone,
But because it’s grown quiet,
Rooted deeper,
No longer searching for permission to bloom.

I am still learning.
Still unlearning.
Still loving.

But I am not the same.
And maybe—
That’s what healing really is.