Did you ever realize
that the more you keep reliving the memories
of the ones who left,
the deeper you drive the knife into your own heart?
You think you're remembering love,
but all you're doing
is reopening a wound that was finally beginning to close.
Every time you replay their laughter,
your heart forgets that they're gone.
Every time you trace their name in your mind,
you breathe life into a ghost that doesn't deserve resurrection.
And so the torment grows,
not from what they did,
but from what you refuse to let rest.
You become both the victim and the cause,
the one bleeding and the one holding the blade.
Because memories…
they don't heal when clung to;
they heal when released.
The past already had its moment,
its laughter, its lessons, its tears.
Now it's time to let it rest where it belongs
behind you.
Moving on isn't betrayal.
It's mercy,
for your heart, your peace, your soul.
So close the door gently.
Don't look back.
And when the memories call out your name,
whisper softly,
"I'm no longer yours to haunt."