Some guilt was never yours.

I keep expecting healing to feel dramatic. A breakthrough. A revelation. Most days it looks nothing like that. Most days it looks like reacting a little less, hurting a little differently, carrying the same story with slightly steadier hands.

You learned to carry disappointment so well that nobody noticed how heavy it became.

Weight changes when it's shared.

There are people I stopped talking to years ago who still live rent-free in my head. Not because I want them back. Just because some conversations ended before my heart finished having them.

You keep searching for the moment everything will make sense. Meanwhile, your life is happening without permission.

The two can wear the same face.

I realized today that I spend a lot of time preparing for disappointment. I lower expectations, rehearse worst-case scenarios, keep backup plans for backup plans. Somewhere along the way, protecting myself started taking more energy than actually living.

You spent so long surviving the fire, you forgot you were allowed to leave it.