The Dance Between Holding On and Letting Go

Some mornings, I swear I’m over it.
Then the afternoon hits, and I’m back in my head again.
It’s like I keep walking forward, but I keep turning around too just to see if he is still behind me.

There’s this version of me that’s moved on. who plays music, cleans the house, answers emails like nothing happened.
Then there’s the version that still waits. Quietly. The one that still hopes, stupidly, that maybe he will just… come back.

I catch myself staring at my phone sometimes, not even sure what I’m waiting for. A text? An apology? A sign? Who knows.

I haven’t deleted our messages. I open them now and then. I don’t even read them I just… look.
His name still makes something clench in my chest.
It’s ridiculous, really. A random perfume on someone else, a song in a cafe, a line from a movie and suddenly I’m right back there. Us. Like nothing ever went wrong.

But it did.
It always did.

I try to let go. I do.
Some days I even feel proud skipping the sad songs, not checking his page, pretending the memories don’t sting as much.

I don’t believe in deleting everything. I’m not dramatic like that.
Letting go isn’t one big action. It’s quiet. Boring, even.
It’s making dinner and not thinking how they used to love the way I cooked.
It’s going to bed and not hoping for a “goodnight” message.
It’s hearing his name in a group chat and not flinching well, not as much.

For a while, I thought holding on made me pathetic.
But maybe it just means I cared. Deeply.
And letting go? It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. It just means I’ve started turning that care toward myself.

I’m not fully healed. I’m not over it. I’m not broken either.
I’m just… in the middle.
Still learning what to do with all the love I used to give away without thinking.

Some days I still ache.
Other days, I feel free.
And in between all that, I’m learning. That’s enough, I think.

If you’re somewhere in the middle too not quite holding on, not fully letting go
just know you’re not weird. You’re not weak. You’re just human.
And that counts for something.