Last night, as I came across old photos of us, I felt something different:

Peace.

Not the kind of peace that comes from forgetting, but the kind that comes from accepting.

Accepting that we had our time, and it was beautiful in its own way.

Accepting that it’s okay to outgrow people, even if you once thought they were your forever.

Accepting the fact that we are no longer in each other's lives.

A, I no longer miss you the way I used to.

I don’t feel that sharp pang of longing and pain when I hear your name or see something that reminds me of you.

Instead, there’s just a quiet sense of gratitude for what we shared and a quiet resolve to keep moving forward.

I guess in the end, moving on is not about erasing the past or pretending it didn’t matter.

It’s about making peace with it and realizing that MY story didn’t end when OURS did.

Je suis en fin libré. I am finally free from you.