the Sum of it all

29

Dear Oliver,

Now I think I finally understand what it means to truly live. To wake up and decide that the choices I make are for me and no one else—not for your approval, not for the hope of your affection. It feels strange, unfamiliar, as though I've stepped out of a world of shadows into one of blinding light. The brightness stings my eyes, and it's left me crying more than I'd care to admit these past few days. I've walked into a void, an empty space where the echoes of you no longer linger. It feels like a new beginning—a world where you don't exist, where your presence doesn't dictate my every thought or action.

I can't fully grasp what it means to live freely yet, but today, for the first time, I saw glimpses of it. I saw things I want to enjoy, places I want to explore, moments I want to savor—not because I imagined sharing them with you, but because they belong to me now. Yes, I once dreamed of a life filled with shared laughter and adventures with you. I wrote about those dreams in past letters, as though putting them on paper might make them real. But now, they feel like distant memories—fragments of a life I'm beginning to let go of, like faded photographs at the back of my mind, destined to be forgotten.

This new world is hazy, disorienting. Living without the love I wrapped myself in for so long feels strange, like losing a part of my identity. But that love, once so vivid and consuming, is fading now, dissolving into the air like smoke. It's liberating, yes, but it terrifies me. For so long, I lived in your shadow, and stepping out of it feels like learning how to walk again. My heart, though battered, is learning how to beat for itself, and not for the weight of your indifference.

It will take time—years, maybe—for me to let someone see the depth of this heart, to let it love again with the same ferocity. But I've made a promise to myself. The next time I give my love away, it won't be to someone who reminds me of you. My heart has earned the right to rise above the kind of love that left it bruised and aching. I've learned my lessons, and I'm holding on to them like treasures.

And one day, I believe someone will stop me from writing letters like this. Someone who will see the value in my unspoken words, who will want to hear them, not as a distant echo but as a voice that matters. To them, I will not be invisible. To them, I will be enough. And in that moment, when the ink runs dry and the unsent letters find their end, I'll know that I've finally moved on from the love that once consumed me.

With regards,
Mori