The bracelet on my wrist was a constant reminder, a tether to the past that I couldn't seem to let go. At first, I thought it would be romantic if someone took this symbol off, a sign that I've moved beyond the cliché they call "moving on." But it wasn't that simple.
For months after the break-up, I wore it like a self-inflicted wound, unconsciously torturing myself. At night, I would listen to our recorded phone conversations, the happy memories we once shared echoing in my ears, and stare at the bracelet until my vision blurred.
Solitude can be a needy friend, always demanding more of your time and attention. But it had to end, this cycle of grief and longing. Letting go was not easy; you get used to things, and it seemed like nothing would ever feel greater than what we had.
Not wearing the bracelet felt unfamiliar, like a part of me was missing. But slowly, day by day, I adjusted to the absence, the weight of it lifting from my wrist and my heart.
And love and life, they go on, even when we think they can't. This shall be the last time my wrist wears this look, a final farewell to the bracelet and the memories it held.
PS. Happy Independence Day…
