In the Process of Letting Go

I haven’t left yet,
but I feel the weight of departure pressing against my chest.
The process has begun—
this slow and silent unraveling
of a life I’m still living,
but no longer feel a part of.

I see the names and faces,
people I once laughed with,
people who once knew me.
Somehow, they’ve turned into strangers,
distant figures I thought I’d carry forever.

Is it a blessing to let go so easily?
Or is it an emptiness I’ve refused to confront?
I wonder,
how many of them think of me now,
or will notice when I’m gone?

Nine years building,
smiling,
sharing pieces of myself
with people I thought would stay.
But here I am, holding onto the threads
of connections that have silently unraveled,
one by one.

And yet,
as the silence grows louder,
I feel something shifting.
It’s not sadness, not entirely—
it’s space.
Space for something new,
a story yet to be written.

I’m still here,
but I’m no longer rooted.
The process of letting go has begun,
and though it feels lonely now,
I know it’s necessary.

For every face that fades,
I make room for something brighter,
for a life that will feel whole,
even if it’s far from what I’ve known.

Letting go is never easy.
It’s questioning yourself, it’s bittersweet.
It’s holding onto what was,
while reaching for what could be.

But in this emptiness,
I trust,
a new version of myself is taking shape.
I’m not losing;
I’m making room to grow.