Like the last leaf left on the tree during winter, I’m still holding on to a time that has passed. And its death still leaves me mourning. 

It’s hard to bury the idea of someone. You can’t throw dirt on their name just to numb the pain, but you can’t bring them flowers, either. You can’t show them how much you love them, because even though they’re still breathing doesn’t mean they’re still listening.

Silence makes me feel so deeply alone, I instantly start crying just for the sound. I stare outside my window now, watching cars on the highway below through the bare trees, and I don’t feel serene. I’m just longing for the life I no longer lead. A life that held different characters who won’t be starring in new chapters. A life in which maybe I didn’t fit but still brought me so much contentment. A life I thought would flourish this very month, the plans I’d tried to forge because I was clinging to a hope I was never even sure of.

Winter is dark and full of gloom. I wish I had something to hold onto. Some days, I think I do. Some days, like today, under this full moon, I release, again and again, the life I had back then. I guess, to let go, you have to grieve in stages. I guess, to move on, you have to revisit those places. The ones that stole your breath, at first in awe, but now in agony, knowing you’ll never get back those memories. And you have to create new stories, feed new narratives, like “I am where I’m meant to be” and “My person never would have left me.” 

Otherwise, it gets too hard to breathe.