I guess I struggle to make peace with leaving behind something golden.
And even when I wait as long as possible, it pains me to let go.
I dont hold on so tightly because I want to I wish endings were easier for me.
@all_who_wander
I wish letting go wasnt so emotionally strenuous.
I dont know how to say goodbye when my life has been permanently changed for the better.
But maybe nostalgia can happen in the present moment too.
Maybe its possible to feel nostalgic even before the present has become a memory.
Maybe its a fear of a place or time becoming a memory that makes letting go so incredibly difficult.
Maybe Im afraid of approaching nostalgia.
Birthdays have always felt extra bittersweet to me.
They imply a loss of innocence.
They imply closing the chapters that made up year 26 or 29 or 33.
Birthdays turn years and ages into memories.
Birthdays turn experiences into stories, stories that have endings.
I smile for photos, and venture to enjoy the moment.
But the mood is never fully that of excitement for me.
But now I understand that my discomfort is rooted in the acknowledgement of an ending.
Everytime I said goodbye to the waves, my heart felt heavy, with a sense of sadness.
Like I wasnt ready to let go of each particular summer, and each specific beach trip.
Like everything would be different when I would return the next summer.
The goodbyes to people have by far been the hardest.
Goodbyes are the hardest because they signify a loss of something we once held dear.
Goodbyes bring about an ending of a time that once felt good to us.
Goodbyes put the final period on the page.
Goodbyes make the sentence come to a close.
But their brevity doesnt take away their significance.
Endings do not mean that the middles never happened.
Goodbyes will sting for a while, and thats a truth we simply cannot avoid.
Its okay to not hold on until my hands are physically hurting.
Its okay to let go even when a story seems like it is ending too soon.
A space that once held something good has been replaced by a space that feels empty and lonely.
And the scary part is, we dont know what will fill this space next.
We dont know how long it will be vacant.
We dont know if the next person or the next story will be as beautiful as the previous one.
We dont know if well ever feel the exact same way again.
And while this is daunting, I guess Im realizing that maybe it can also be kind of magical.
I do not think that endings ever become any easier.
And maybe, just maybe, this new beginning will be a different key in of miracle.
