NdukuOutLoud

I stopped measuring myself against the shadow of your absence.
Growth? Perhaps. Acceptance? Almost.
Healing? A word too polished for the cracks I carry.

This is not about you.
It is about me-
me realizing that love was never the language we spoke,
only longing, only silence, only the weight of what we wished for.

We were mirrors, fogged and fractured,
suffocating each other with the air of unmet expectations.
I kept waiting for the better version of us,
but the truth was always here,
plain, unadorned, unkind.

We were never good.
Not for one another.
Not for ourselves.

And so I let go.
Of the idea of you.
Of the idea of me.
Of the idea of us.

The memories still flicker,
sometimes sharp, sometimes tender.
But I am fine.
Not the fine of masks,
not the fine of rehearsed smiles.

Fine in the quiet.
Fine in the stillness.
Fine without you.
Fine without wondering if you still think of me.

Fine, because I think of me now.
And that is enough.