Love isn’t about who we cling to, not really. It’s about what that clinging shows us about who we are.
I’ve held on too tightly, gripping through storms that should have pulled me away, convincing myself that pain was just the cost of keeping something beautiful. I smiled through the weight of it all, pretending I wasn’t falling apart. But now I see that breaking isn’t the end of the story, it’s where it begins.
I’ve turned a blind eye to the things I should have seen. I excused the late calls, the empty promises, the way my voice would go quiet whenever yours got loud. I told myself it didn’t matter, that maybe love was supposed to feel like losing pieces of yourself. But that’s the lie, isn’t it? It’s never about losing. It’s about finding the courage to hold on to what’s already yours.
Letting go of you wasn’t the hard part. The real battle was learning to stand steady with myself, to stop looking for my worth in someone else’s hands. I’ve spent so long fearing the emptiness that comes when someone leaves, but now I know that space isn’t empty. It’s just mine to fill. It’s where I get to grow, to build, to be more than I ever thought I could be.
Now, I’m learning to make peace with the way life moves. The seasons change without asking our permission. The tide always pulls back, and feelings fade no matter how tightly we try to hold them in place. I used to see that as loss, but now I see it as the rhythm of life, the ebb and flow that makes room for something new.
Standing on my own feels unfamiliar, like learning to walk again after forgetting how. But it’s also freeing, like the first deep breath after holding it in for far too long. Love isn’t what I thought it was, it’s not about clinging to someone else. It’s about finding the courage to let go and, in the process, holding on to yourself.