Some mornings I feel strong.
Like I can breathe without needing anyone to notice.
Like I can finally live without looking back.
But other mornings…
I wake up with a heavy heart.
A quiet ache.
Not because I miss him, exactly
but because I miss the idea of being loved.
It's been almost two weeks since I blocked Jayden.
No calls. No texts.
No "I miss you"s at midnight.
And honestly? The silence is louder than his presence ever was.
This morning, I opened my closet to find something to wear for a quick brunch with Sasha.
Tucked in the back was the burgundy dress Jayden once complimented.
"You look expensive in that," he'd said.
I remember how that made me feel powerful, beautiful, wanted.
But that was just a moment.
And one moment of kindness doesn't erase a hundred moments of neglect.
I almost put the dress on. Then I paused.
I didn't want to wear it because of his compliment.
I wanted to wear it because I liked how I looked in it.
Because I'm allowed to love myself without someone else's approval.
So I put it on. For me.
Brunch was at our usual spot Ivy's Garden Café. Outdoor tables, fresh flowers, soft jazz in the background.
Sasha arrived late, as always, in oversized sunglasses and energy that filled the whole block.
"Yessss burgundy goddess!" she shouted from across the table. "Who are you dressed for?"
"Me," I said with a grin.
"Exactly. As you should."
We ordered mimosas and pancakes and talked about everything from work to nail polish to that awkward guy she ghosted last week.
But then she looked at me seriously and asked:
"So… how's your heart, really?"
I paused. Stirred my drink.
Then said softly:
"Some days I feel okay. Like I've finally moved on."
"And other days, I still think about how I let someone treat me like an option for so long."
Sasha nodded.
"That's normal. Healing isn't a straight line. It's up and down. Messy. Sometimes even blurry."
I nodded too. Because that was exactly how it felt.
After brunch, I walked through a small street market on my way home.
I wasn't looking for anything. But a vendor had bracelets displayed simple beaded ones with words engraved.
One caught my eye.
It said:
"Choose You."
I picked it up and smiled.
"That one's special," the vendor said. "I made it for someone who left a toxic relationship."
"I'll take it," I said quietly.
That night, I sat at my desk wearing the bracelet. My fingers ran over the words again and again.
Choose you.
Not once.
Not when it's easy.
Not when you've been hurt.
But every single day.
Even when the loneliness creeps in.
Even when old memories knock on your door.
Even when you miss the version of them that only existed in the beginning.
Choose you.
I opened my email to finish work for a client, and saw something unexpected.
Jayden's name.
Not a message. But a "Like" on one of my old Instagram photos.
The one where I was at the beach last year smiling, glowing.
He hadn't liked any of my photos in months.
I stared at the notification. My heart didn't race.
I didn't feel excited. Just… numb.
So he's watching again.
Maybe even hoping I'd notice.
But this time, I didn't reach out.
I didn't screenshot it and send it to Sasha.
I didn't craft a message in my head.
I just closed the app and went back to work.
Because watching from a distance doesn't mean he changed.
It just means he noticed I stopped orbiting around him.
I used to mistake those tiny signals the likes, the texts, the "just checking in" messages as signs that he cared.
But I know better now.
Interest is not investment.
And love isn't a game of digital breadcrumbs.
Later that evening, I wrote in my journal:
Healing isn't pretty.
It's crying in your car on the way to work.
It's avoiding songs that remind you of what could've been.
It's saying no when you really want to say "just one more time."
But healing is also this choosing myself over someone who made me feel small.
I lit my favorite candle vanilla and amber and played soft music as I folded my laundry.
Simple things.
Safe things.
I was building a home in myself again.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new number.
I didn't recognize it. I almost ignored it.
But curiosity got the better of me.
Unknown: "Hey… I know I probably shouldn't text. It's Jayden. Just wanted to say I hope you're okay. I miss talking to you."
I stared at the message for a while.
It wasn't angry. It wasn't desperate.
But it didn't say what really mattered either:
No real apology.
No acknowledgment of the damage.
No accountability.
Just another soft tap on the door, hoping I'd open it.
And for the first time…
I didn't even want to.
I didn't type anything.
Not "I'm okay."
Not "I miss you too."
Not "Leave me alone."
Just silence.
Not the kind that waits for him to fix things.
The kind that protects peace.
Because I no longer need closure from the person who broke me.
I placed my phone on the nightstand and whispered out loud:
"Healing isn't easy… but I'm doing it."
He may still reach out.
But I no longer reach back.
Because loving myself is no longer a maybe.
It's a promise.