Just a Moment

No screaming, no dramatic slam of the door, we just, broke up. Just a quiet ending – like the kind where you finally stop lying to yourself. Or maybe just get too tired to keep pretending the fire’s still warm.

And honestly? I’m happy. I am.

But happiness doesn’t mean I’m immune to moments like this – where something catches in my throat and I think about the way he used to bring me water between the fires. Or how he’d make those cards with my dog on them and I’d convince myself, See? He cares. Look how thoughtful this is. Look how much worse it could be.

I used to justify so much with:

• “He’s not a bad person.”
• “He’s been through a lot.”
• “I’m strong – I can take it.”
• “This is what love looks like, right?”
• “It’s not perfect but nothing is.”

What I really meant was: I’m used to shrinking myself to keep someone else comfortable.

And maybe the most honest thing I ever said – though rarely out loud – was: I’m a fucking human being. With needs. With limits. With a heart that deserves softness, not survival.

Today’s just a moment. Not a breakdown. Not a relapse. Not a regret.

Just… a feeling. Yeah, I’m in my fucking feelings.

Because detaching from something that hurt you doesn’t mean it didn’t hold you for a while. And being the one who walks away doesn’t mean it won’t still sting. That’s not a weakness. That’s grief. And I’m allowed to feel it without undoing all the strength it took to finally leave.

So yeah, today I got in my feelings. I cried a little. Thought about the way things could’ve been if he were someone else. But I didn’t text him. I didn’t reach for wine. I didn’t spin it into some story where I’m the villain for wanting more.

I just let myself feel it. Because that’s healing, too.

Letting go doesn’t mean it wasn’t love. It means I stopped begging for the kind I deserve.

And if today’s a moment of softness, fine. I’ve earned it. Tomorrow, I will keep going.