Sometimes the weight gets too heavy, and the silence too loud.
This letter isn’t just words — it’s me reaching toward a version of myself I don’t feel yet, but hope to meet one day.
She’s stronger, softer, and no longer breaking.

This is for her —
and for the me who is trying to get there.

Hey love,

Remember where you are right now.

I remember the ache that sat heavy in your chest every morning.

I remember missing him so much it felt like something inside you broke.

I want you to know — you didn’t do anything wrong. You loved in the only way you knew how: fully, honestly, quietly. That mattered.

And even though it hurt like hell to let go, it was an act of self-love you didn’t fully understand at the time. You were choosing peace, even before it felt peaceful.

I won’t lie to you — it took time. Some nights, the missing came in waves. But day by day, your heart softened. You stopped reaching for his name in your notifications. You stopped needing his voice to feel like you mattered.

You found you again. Not the version of you that waited for messages, but the one who smiles without needing a reason. The one who loves softly, but never forgets her own worth.

I'm proud of you. For every tear, every word you wrote, every day you got out of bed. You made it.

And when you're ready, love will find you again — the kind that stays, and meets you where you are.

But for now, just breathe. You're doing better than you think.

I’m here.

Always, You

If you’re reading this and you’re hurting too — you’re not alone. Some losses don’t come with closure. Some love doesn’t get to grow. But healing isn’t about forgetting — it’s about finding peace in remembering.
And maybe one day, we’ll look back at this moment and whisper to ourselves: “Thank you for holding on.”