I’ve noticed that writing really helps me. Every time I put words down, I feel just a bit lighter, like something heavy has lifted. It’s similar to the feeling I get after a long walk—a small release, a moment of calm. I know my words are often scattered, but that’s how my mind feels lately: all over the place, trying to make sense of everything.
Right now, I’m waiting. I haven’t heard anything from him. Or should I say “my ex” now? I don’t know. Part of me hopes he comes around; he always has in the past. And I know my previous posts may not sound like it, but I do love him. I just tend to write when I’m overwhelmed with emotion, and that only seems to heighten everything I’m feeling. When I’m in that place, everything feels so intense—maybe even more intense than it really is.
I’m not a religious person, but tonight, I find myself praying that we can make things work. We’ve invested so much time, energy, and love into this relationship. It just doesn’t feel right for it to end like this. I hope this isn’t the end, that maybe this is just one of those rough patches that makes us stronger.
For now, I’m holding on to writing and hoping it’ll help me find a little more peace. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help me hold on to hope, too.
The Fourth Trimester 