It gets better with time. Does it?

The time has passed, but the ache remains. I thought by now, I’d be free of it, that I’d have found a way to carry on without the weight of what’s gone. But it lingers, just beneath the surface, like a shadow that follows me wherever I go. I tell myself I’ve accepted it, that I’ve made peace with the loss. But some days, it feels like I’m only pretending.

I’ve tried to move forward, to find a way to be okay again. But every step feels heavy, like I’m walking through a fog I can’t escape. There are moments when the world feels too bright, too loud, and I just want to retreat into the quiet, where I can let the sadness wash over me without having to explain why I’m still not okay.

People tell me it gets better with time, that the pain dulls and life moves on. Maybe they’re right, and maybe one day I’ll wake up and find that the hurt has faded. But right now, it feels like I’m stuck between who I was and who I’m supposed to become, unsure of how to close the gap.

I want to let go. I want to stop carrying the memories like weights around my heart. But letting go feels like losing a piece of myself. It’s a strange kind of grief, mourning the loss of something while still holding on to the love it left behind.