I feel myself separating. Detaching.

Diverging in a new way. In a way that is both sad and merciful in its making. In a way I could never have predicted. I feel myself separating from you in a real way. Growing out and away. I feel quietness when thoughts of you broach my mind.

What is this?

The love that we cultivated was the netting on which I built my universe. It’s so strange to not feel that anymore. Or at least, to feel so very far from that. So very distance. Almost as if I have to remind myself of how real that once was.

What is this?

I call this detachment both sad and merciful because it really is. Sad, because our connection was so central to who I was. To what I wanted to be. To what I could see, feel and hope for. Merciful, because I thought I could never let go, or worst…that it would never let go of me. I thought I would drown under the weight of our damage.

But maybe not. Maybe I’m finally done. Maybe I can finally breathe deeply once again.

With time, I’ve changed. Grown. Released. Cried. Been tormented. Prayed. Meditated. Cried. Laughed. Longed. Raged. Released. Become…

Become something different. A new animal.

One less…wounded. Devoted. Bound.

One more…awake. In control. Tired. Honest. Detached. Ready.

I don’t want to go back to where I was before. I felt like I was shattering and burning. I was self-destructive and called it love.

I can’t be attached like that anymore.

“I let you leave. I need someone who knows how to stay.” – Warsan Shire, the unbearable weight of staying – (the end of the relationship)