in the soft undoing
there’s always a moment when you realize something has shifted. not suddenly, but slowly — like the sound of a door closing from another room. you don’t see it, but you know it’s there. sometimes, people don’t leave because of a single reason. they drift — slowly, quietly, almost kindly. they speak of changes, of needing space, of new beginnings, and you believe them, because you want to. you choose to understand. but later, when the pieces start to connect, you realize the story wasn’t as simple as it seemed. maybe it had been unfolding long before the goodbye, while you were still showing up fully, unaware that the weight had already shifted. and yet, there’s a strange comfort in that quiet. because it teaches you that integrity is not about how people leave, but how you choose to stay yourself after they do. it’s a strange feeling — to look back and see how things were already changing beneath the surface. the words, the actions, even the kindnesses start to make sense in a new...
