Letting go isn't about forgetting.
It's about choosing to move forward while carrying the weight of what once was—with love, not regret.
But no one teaches you how to do that.
Some mornings, I woke up and reached for my phone to text you. I'd stop halfway, staring at the blank screen, the silence hitting me all over again.
Other days, I'd hear a song and swear I felt your presence beside me—quiet, like you always were. Like you never really left.
I started walking more. To the park. The bookstore we never visited but always talked about. Even to the old coffee shop where the barista still remembered your order.
I sat by the window once, sketching a couple that reminded me of us.
I titled it *Almost.*
At night, I talked to your photo. Told you about my day. My paintings. My dreams. I knew it was silly, but it helped. It made the silence feel less lonely.
Then one evening, Seojin came to my room. He looked at the drawings on my wall—hundreds of them, each one touched by your memory.
"In-ha," he said gently, "you don't have to hold on this tight to keep her close."
I didn't reply.
He sat beside me and added, "Maybe it's time to paint something new. Not to forget her… but to remember yourself, too."
That night, I stood before a blank canvas. The first I hadn't touched with your memory in mind.
At first, I froze.
Then I closed my eyes.
I thought of your laughter, your eyes, the wind, the rain, the music.
And I painted.
Not sorrow.
Not goodbye.
But the beginning of something different.
Something that honored you—and freed me.
Because letting go isn't about losing someone.
It's about finding the strength to carry love into a new chapter, without being crushed by it.
And maybe, that's what you wanted all along.
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