Sometimes the only way to breathe again is to leave.
I didn’t run from the country — I ran from the ghosts that lived in every corner of it. Every street carried your shadow. Every café still echoed with our laughter. Every sunset reminded me of the ones we used to watch together.

I thought distance would erase you.
But leaving didn’t silence the memories — it made them louder at first. Walking through unfamiliar cities, surrounded by strangers, I still carried you with me. I realized then that healing doesn’t come from miles traveled, but from the courage to face the ache inside.

And yet… distance gave me perspective.
In every new place, I learned something about myself.
I learned that I could survive without the comfort of the familiar.
I learned that even when I felt lost, I could find pieces of myself again in the most unexpected corners.
I learned that moving forward is not betrayal — it’s survival.

Every landmark, every journey, every sunrise in a foreign land reminded me of what I had lost — but also of what I could still find. Slowly, the memories stopped feeling like chains and started feeling like lessons.

Healing didn’t mean forgetting you.
It meant learning to exist without you.
It meant daring to imagine a tomorrow that belonged to me, not to us.

Far from home, I found myself closer to healing.
Not because I escaped you, but because I finally believed that my story was not over. That there was still a future waiting for me — a future brighter than the past I left behind.

And with every step I took away from the places that held us, I walked closer to the person I was meant to become.

Always and Forever

💬 Have you ever left a place to heal from someone? Share in the comments — your journey might inspire someone else to begin theirs.