Losing you was not just losing you. Losing you was completely losing me. And that’s why it hurt like hell. That’s why every single part of me felt wretched. Like a garden that had overnight become a desert. Like the rain was never ever going to appear and take this pain away. And it lasted forever.
You left so suddenly, I didn’t think I would ever truly be able to live as a happy version of myself again.
I tried to learn how to live with it, but pain makes a terrible bedfellow. It keeps you up at night, never allowing you to sleep. Eventually, it colours all of your life in shades so dark that you forget how to breathe.
So the morning I finally stopped missing you came as a surprise. The morning I stopped missing you was so sudden and out of the blue, it confused me. I always thought grieving was a slow and long process. I thought letting go took even longer. But this was so sudden, so out of the blue it threw me completely. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and I was taking a walk in the woods.
Watching the leaves leave the trees it hit me: you were like these leaves. Never ever meant to stay, but I was like a wise old oak. Sturdy, steadfast and capable of bearing any kind of storm. It felt like I was finally opening my eyes after years and years of darkness when I realised that my roots were strong enough to bear the loss of a thousand leaves like you.
And suddenly, just like that, I understood. I understood that the fire in my heart deserved better than to be turned to embers over people not staying, I understood that by being in this much pain all the time the only person I was harming was myself.
I walked into those woods that morning a person in great pain, suffering a great loss. I came out of those woods, a wiser, taller oak tree of a human that understood what she was meant to be.
And my heart was finally alive again.