I do not carry you in the way I used to.
Not in my voice, not in my choices,
not in the quiet moments where I once questioned my worth.
What I carry now is different.
I carry the strength it took to leave,
the courage it took to see the truth and not look away.
I carry the version of me who stayed too long
not with shame, but with understanding.
She was trying to survive
with what she knew then.
And I honor her for that.
But I am not her anymore.
I am someone
who listens to her instincts,
who trusts the feeling
in her chest that says
this is not right.
I am someone who chooses peace
over confusion, who chooses herself
without hesitation.
There is no anger here that owns me,
no past that defines me.
Only a quiet, steady knowing:
I am still here.
I am still whole.
And I am mine again.