Moving on isn’t easy—it’s more than a choice,
It’s losing the echo of someone’s voice.
It’s waking to mornings that feel the same,
But carrying heartache without a name.
It’s packing up pieces of dreams once shared,
And walking through rooms where no one cared.
It’s faking a laugh, pretending you’re fine,
While tears hide in cracks between each line.
It’s not a switch that you flip in the night,
It’s stumbling forward, craving the light.
It’s learning to breathe with half of your heart,
And stitching new endings from broken parts.
It’s the hope that grows quiet, like moss on stone,
It’s dancing, one day, with pain, you’ve outgrown.
And maybe you never forget what was lost—
But you carry it gently, whatever the cost.
For healing is messy, and time moves slow—
And moving on means letting it go…
Not all at once, but piece by piece,
Until the hurt begins to cease.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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