for the first time, maybe in years, it is my own joy. spontaneous and unsolicited. not vicarious, as it was before, nor mocked up to match yours to an extent where I even half-believed it to be true. i feel my own pain, too, and what a relief that is, to call it mine.
i wish i could say it happened quickly. after weβd loaded the last of the things into the car and iβd come back inside, aloneβi wish i could say it felt different then. instead itβs been a gradual acclimation, since that afternoon two months ago, like how coming into a dark room on a sunny day leaves you blind for a bit. not that i am not grateful for what it was. i am. i only wish iβd realized sooner, or uncovered the part of me that always knew, that sometimes you need to let go.
