They say that letting go is like a knife, but that sharp pain kills too quickly. Letting go is when the gates that used to guard your heart turn against you. When they transform into monstrous metallic claws that rip into you, but my, how they take their time pulling you apart from the inside. The ripping is exquisitely slow, every day the pain grows, throbs and repeats. Until finally there is a gaping hole in your chest where a beautiful bird used to sing. The bird is gone, there is only silence now, but you let go. Somehow you let go. Now the claws work on repairing the damage, but they leave a tiny hole. Just in case one day, that beloved bird chooses to fly back.
My heart is a warm hearth, a nest in which you grew then outgrew. If I knew back then what I’d be going through, I wouldn’t change a thing. That’s how much I love you, but you don’t understand. Not yet little birdie. Not yet.
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