Not out of anger.
Not out of resentment.
But out of release.
There was a time those words held me together.
Today, they no longer needed to.
Before the flame touched it, I read it out loud to myself one last time.
I watched the paper stand tall before it folded into fire.
Smoke rose. Ink dissolved.
And something in my chest softened.
Afterward, I walked.
Steady. Quiet. Intentional.
Letting my body process what my heart had finally let go of.
It wasn’t just paper.
It was attachment.
Expectation.
A version of love that taught me, but was not meant to stay.
As the ashes settled, clarity rose.
I feel lighter.
Tender.
Stronger.
More at peace.
Healing isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s just a small fire in an empty yard..
and a woman choosing herself.
So good!