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You made me feel like the consolation prize. You couldn’t have the girl you really wanted so you would settle for my attention when you needed it.

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I loved you in ways I never prepared myself to.

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Right now I’m breathing in the hope for tomorrow. I’m exhaling my frustration, my stress, my anxiety. I’m releasing. And beginning again.

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I am not afraid to shed the skin that once was warm with your touch. The familiarity I wore like an extra layer—one, for the longest time, I was too stubborn to take off.

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Sometimes lost love is a reminder. Of who we are. Of our worth.

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This year, I’m letting go of people, of things, of feelings, of thoughts that aren’t mine to keep. That aren’t bringing me hope. That aren’t pushing me to be a better person or inspiring me to stand after I’ve fallen down.

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Releasing is not synonymous with giving up. Releasing is space, new beginnings, and hope.

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This is me moving on from you, forever altered by the lessons you gave me and determined to never repeat them.