It is time to let go

It is time to let go, I know it hurts and that you are too young to feel this way, but it is time to get up, wash your face, and let go. None of these memories are worth crying over anymore, all the dusty boxes piled up in your brain should be tossed out by now. Footnotes of happiness are now anthologies of misery, the view was never that beautiful it just your head playing games, enhancing the colors of all that was pale.

It’s time to let go, so stop reminding yourself of the weight you once carried, stop trying to replace it by doubling the memories. You are not yet free, you are not the light that you used to be, you were the sun so how could you fade this way? You will rise up like you always do, because you know, deep down in your brain, underneath the mess, that some losses are victories and that everything happens for a reason. I know you will let go, but all this time wasted in vain, sitting all by yourself, draining your eyes out, tearing your heart apart. How could you do it? How could you put yourself through this hell?

All this hurt bottled down until it blows up and destroys all the good that is left. The more you hold into things, the harder it is to let go. You become addicted to the pain, you make it a part of who you are, you wear it with pride, you cut yourself a pretty dress from the cloth of hurt, but it still weighs you down, and its color washes you out. You look into the mirror, and you see a hollow reflection of what once was, you pity the poor creature, and you decide that tomorrow you will wear another dress.

The night ends, but you still cannot see yourself wearing any color but blue, so you stay in bed the whole day, after all it still is better than to put on the dress of sorrow. You make the choice to not put any dress on and for seconds a mad wise soul takes over you, and you rip the dress apart, you set it on fire, you throw the ashes from the window, and you watch the little black birds fly away from you. It hurts you to let go, but you do it anyway because you know that if you put a pretty dress on top of the old one, even if no one pays attention to it, you will know it is there, putting you down, suffocating you, it is worn out and faded and above all, it is not you anymore.