Held Without Fear

sweater in the grocery store. It wasn't even exact, but it br

use even when you move forward, a part of y

to send anything. I just needed to say it. To let the words bleed out

egin this. Not because I have nothing to say, bu

out the good-the way his voice could calm me in seconds, how his laugh felt like home. I wrote about the late-night calls that stretched into sunrise. The video mes

How even though he said he loved me, he let som

I typed. "I'm writing because I nee

cry. I just breathed. For once, my breathing

t week, I

r months. He was sitting by the window, fingers wrapped around a coff

but it stretched longer than it shou

lked

op. I didn'

ote-though unsent-had a

uth is, it

. I didn't even remember the route home. It wasn't until I closed my door behind me th

en I loved him-fragile, overly hopeful, always stret

recordings, screenshots of shared dreams. I clicked on one-our anniversary video. He had sent it

ted. And then

le thing. And the

. The playlist he made for my birthday. The selfi

it a

but the kind that marked the end of something sacred. Not be

ning, I woke

ut there was also something g

ac

er noticed the way I moved differently, as

taller,"

f a weight,

irst time in a long time,

me. About identity after loss. About joy returning in unfamiliar wa

, "I didn't know healing could be this tender." Another wrote, "Yo

lost my voice in loving him. I had on

rote l

bol

girl still checking his last

ss doesn't mean wai

Soft doesn't mean weak. Stop l

e felt like steppi

Out of reclaiming. I sat in the same seat he once did, ordere

s jus

ss from me was taken. I smiled, closed th

ded someone new t

was no longe

losure he could've given

but in quiet recognition. Like hearing an old

nds, I feel a small ache-not for him, but for th

e. And now, so am I. J

hope is

love I can