Michaela, Still Soft After the Storm: A Goodbye to the Pain, Not the Person

❁2025-05-10❁

Dear Pain,

I'm not writing this letter to pretend that you didn't exist. I'm writing it because I've carried you long enough.

You arrived quietly—at first as confusion, then ache, then silence where something warm used to live. I held you close, thinking if I just tried harder, maybe you'd turn back into something soft. Maybe love.

I don't want this pain anymore. I don't want to carry it on my back everyday.

I want to remember him, if I do, for the warmth—not the waiting. For the spark—not the silence. For the moments that made me feel, not the ones that made me question if I was too much or not enough.

I want to say goodbye to the version of me that thought love meant shrinking to be chosen.

You can't have me anymore.

I'm choosing to pour back into my own heart. To write with all the softness I give away. To go concerts and feel the music rush through me like my own heartbeat. To walk through art galleries and see my own reflection in the brushstrokes. To cry if I need to. To laugh like I always have. To heal.

I don't hate him. I don't even hate the way I loved him.

But I can't carry you, pain—not anymore.

I don't want this to be goodbye to you. I want us to find our way back, not to what we were, but to what we could be if we were brave enough.

Goodbye.

—Michaela