If you Love them Let them Go (Acceptance- End of Rwlationship)
- iemhail
It did not stop in a fight. No screaming, no door slams—just tranquility, like the last light before night comes. We studied one
another with understanding rather than rage. There was nothing left to add that hadn't previously been uttered silently.
One time, we were everything. We are two people now with distinct routes and mutual memories.
Once I was afraid of this second. Letting go, as I saw it, meant losing. That admission was a weakness. I am now more aware,
though. Acceptance is power, the silent kind that neither pursues nor beseeches. It just gets things.
We didn't fail. We matured. And sometimes progress means separating.
I believe I'll always recall the small things: your chuckle trying not to smile, your grasp of my hand as though it were the only thing
helping you to stay on Earth. Still, I won't hold onto them like anchors. I will let them drift like paper boats on water.
There is no bitterness here. It is harmony.
I won't lie; it hurts. It certainly does. Still, the suffering is less intense right now. Not the kind that breaks but rather the kind that
educates. I am not upset at you. I am not angry with myself. We tried something. We had delight. And that was sincere.
Thank you thereby. For their participation in my story. For the times that mattered. For loving me the way you did and for walking
away at the proper moment.
Though I won't wait, I won't forget you either.
Though not necessarily permanent, love still was love. Sometimes letting go is the most loving act we can perform.
I am currently doing exactly this.
And last of all, I'm all right.
Not Today, Maybe Tomorrow (Denial- Lifestyle)
-iemhail
Every day I wake to a routine I didn't choose but somehow came to be mine. Coffee, screen, silence; repeated I sift filtered
mornings, perfect lives, carefully chosen smiles. I constantly remind myself I am fine. Sometimes I even grin back at the screen, as if
reflection belongs to someone who knows everything.
Friend laughter about goals I now gave up suggested abandoning them was part of some master plan. I claim I'm just "taking my
time," even though time keeps slipping through my fingers like water I won't cup with both hands. I act as if I'm fine, dress well, and
say the appropriate things. My days are filled with distractions, chasing temporary joys: half-eaten meals, empty words, and
memorable evenings.
Admitting I am lost is simpler than saying.
Awareness is the first step toward change, they claim, yet I truly dislike change. Changing would mean dealing with the dreams I
repressed, the truth I continually avoid, the kind of person I was too frightened to become—what I have kept hidden. Transforming
would imply confronting the aspirations I suppressed, the reality I consistently evade, the individual I was too scared to evolve into—
what I have concealed
I'm always reminding myself that i am still young. I have time. This is just a stage.
Still, a part of me knows I have been trapped in this "phase" for years. Automatic life. Operating. Survival. Not quite living.
Quiet poison is denial. It doesn't shout. As the days fade and the heart dulls, it murmurs, "You're okay."
And thus I continue, living a life on pause while pretending it's play. too loud laughter, late sleep, filling of noise.
Perhaps one day I'll quit pretending.
Not today, though.
Today I will follow my usual routine: smile, swallow the truth, and keep running nowhere quickly.
Almost Lost (Angry – Relationship with God)
-iemhail
Once, I quit praying. I am disapointed, not because I don't believe, but because I'm upset at Him and myself. My life is
uncontrollable, and it was falling apart. Despite my best efforts to stay devoted, I kept wondering why I felt alone, why there was
silence and why there was misery.
I was not always like that. I used to talk with Him as a friend. I would pray about little matters, thank Him for the day, wish for calm.
But then life began to hurt me—rejections, failures, prayers left unanswered. I drew back gradually. I stopped praying. I stopped
yearning. Distractions filled the silence so I wouldn't feel our distance.
For everything, I blamed Him. Being silent. For not jumping in. I reminded myself He first left me.
But even in my silence, He lingered.
Just a still presence lingering in the background; no booming voice, no penalties. Not until the night I at last broke did I register it. I
sat in the shadows unable to find words. And yet... I felt it. him. No enraged. Not far off. Right there.
That evening, I understood something: He never demanded me to be perfect. He just waited for me to be truthful.
I am not yet the strongest believer. I continue to come up short. But I'm trying once again, not with immaculate faith but with open
hands.
Perhaps actual faith is always returning rather than never departing.
Still after the quiet.
Even after the hesitation.
Still after I turned away.