November and Everything after.

Here we go again, a little too late slipping in quitely with the cool air and the smell of damp soil, bringing that familiar weight of memories. I used to brace myself for you know, knowing you’d stir up everything I tried to bury – the heartbreaks, the longing, the ache of things lost. But this year, something is different.

I just turned older, and realizing I don’t feel things the way I used to. There’s a stillness in me now that I don’t fully understand, a quiet that feels both comforting and unsettling. I used to be full of feelings I could barely contain, thoughts spilling over with the weight of everything unsaid, a heart so raw it seemed to bleed poetry. Now, that part of me feels quiet. Maybe it's because of his hand always wrapped in mine. But anyway, you’ve always been a time of reflection for me, a month that stirs memories I can’t quite escape.

I used to find something powerful in every shift of your skies, your gloomy breeze, your wind, your melancholy. My words poured out of me because I was always longing for something, haunted by it. But today, suprisingly I feel content. I finally have what I longed for, a calm in the chaos, someone’s hand holding mine, warmth in the cold.

Last November, you showed me what it felt like to lose everything I thought I needed. The endless nights, the questions I couldn’t stop asking, the closure that I think I needed and the full answer for the pain. Anything to fill the empty spaces that heartbreak left behind. But I don’t need that anymore. I’ve stopped looking for explanations, for reasons. I found peace in letting go, in not needing to know why things fell apart. Somehow, it doesn’t matter anymore. A year later, that pain feels distant. It’s like a faded scar – there, but no longer bleeding. 

I think that’s how I know I’ve healed, November. I no longer idealize what I lost. I see it clearly now – the flaws, the imperfections, the reasons things couldn’t last. It’s no longer some perfect story I tell myself. Instead, it’s just one chapter in my life, one that’s closed but shaped who I am. I loved deeply, and I hurt deeply, but I’m not defined by either.

There’s a quiet joy in new things now. And for the first time, I feel a sense of hope. Maybe this is what it means to be whole – to carry my scars with me, but not let them weigh me down. 

So, here I am, standing in your quiet days, letting you pass through me like a gentle wind. But I also know I’m not that same girl anymore. I am someone who has made peace with what she’s lost and who she’s become.