Sometimes people leave and you’re the only one left who remembers how their hands felt, how their laugh sounded, what their eyes looked like, their favorite song, and what their dreams were. But just like the seasons change, so do people.
So you move on…or you try to. You think back to before this all happened, before you trusted someone so intimately, before you loved someone so deeply. Before you knew what that feeling of being in love was even like. Before him, you said you were happy alone. Not because you thought you would always be happy alone, but because you thought that if you did love someone and then it fell apart, you might not make it. It is so much easier to be alone, because what if you learn that you need love and you don’t have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape everything around it, and then it falls apart? What then? Can you even survive that kind of pain? How does everyone do it? The seasons change, it’s part of nature. But why would nature account for this kind of change? Why does this kind of change even exist? How do people make it through?
Lately, I’ve been wondering if it is possible to feel very content and very sad at the same time. To know that where you are right now is where you should be, but you still have a dark cloud overhead. Does that mean that where you are right now is a bad place to be or is it that this is just where you’re meant to be in this moment? I don’t know. Maybe at this point, I’m supposed to feel sad. Because out of this sadness comes creation, and inspiration, and a desire to do more. Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy now. Change is difficult. Maybe I’m supposed to be sad. Maybe this means I’m finally changing.
When people leave, things get infinitely more complicated. You have to learn to lean on yourself, you have to relearn a lot of things. Change is difficult, but the seasons make it look so effortless. When you begin your metamorphosis, you have to remember that greener grasses aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be. Sometimes, when you are trying to adapt to change the best thing you could do is devote time to work on yourself. At the end of the day, you can’t give up on yourself, but you can give up on greener grasses.
And as the seasons morph into one another, it’s hard to understand how they do so with such ease. Or how they wait so long for the next season to come along. The waiting, the process, that’s what’s so difficult in changing. Most of the time, we just want to be healed, to skip the hard stuff. But good things are worth waiting for, at least that is what I keep telling myself.
When someone leaves, things look hopeless. You’re left thinking about the way their eyes sparkled when you told them about your day, and the way they twitched in their sleep, or how their face scrunched up when they were reading. And you think you’re the only one who knows those faces until they find someone that isn’t you. But seasons change and so do people, and so did you. And it’s time for me to change, too. Because good things are worth waiting for, and I’ve learned that I’m the good thing. And finding myself was worth waiting for.