I burned the bridge.

Not in a dramatic “I screamed and threw things” way. More like a calm, exhausted, I can’t do this anymore way—which somehow feels worse.

But wow. The peace? Immediate.

My phone stopped feeling like a jump-scare device. I stopped over-explaining. I stopped bracing myself before conversations, like I was about to enter a haunted house called “Someone Else’s Emotional Baggage.”

Very healing. Very proud.

And yet.

Why do I still find myself staring at the ashes?

 So okay hear me out… What if I just built a tiny walkway? Just a little one. For being the bigger person. For closure. For the version of me that still cries in bed sometimes.

Embarrassing? Deeply.

Healing is complicated because no one tells you that peace does not delete memories—it just gives you better posture while remembering them. I don’t miss the chaos. I miss the idea that it could’ve been different. I miss who I was when I still believed effort would eventually be met with effort.

That girl was delusional. I love her.

Here’s the thing no one tells you, burning a bridge doesn’t mean you stop wondering. It just means you wonder from a safe distance, with snacks, hours of therapy clocked and significantly more self-respect. Some days I feel very smug about my peace. Like, look at me, emotionally evolved and unavailable for nonsense. Other days I miss the version of me who believed people would magically wake up and say, “Wow, I was wrong, let me do better.”

Spoiler: they did not wake up.

They hit snooze. Repeatedly. For years.

So no, I didn’t burn the bridge because I hate them. I burned it because I was tired of being the only one doing repairs while they kept bulldozing over my boundaries like they were suggestions.

Healing is weird though, as you’ll be doing amazing and then suddenly you’re emotional over a memory that didn’t even end well. Like why am I sad about something that stressed me out???

Because closure is not a light switch. It’s more like a dimmer that flickers when you’re tired.

I wonder sometimes if one day I’ll build something from the ashes. Not a full bridge—absolutely not, relax. More like a viewing platform. A place where I can look back without falling in. A place where we’re civil, distant, and no one expects me to shrink myself to keep the peace.

But also… maybe the ashes are enough.

Maybe they’re just proof that I chose myself even though it hurt. That I walked away without getting the apology, the explanation, or the redemption arc. That I survived the ending without rewriting myself to be more tolerable.

And honestly? That deserves a slow clap and a nap.

Healing can mean you can laugh and cry at the same time. You can miss something and still know it’s over. You can protect your peace and still have moments where your heart goes, well damn that’s painful. That doesn’t mean you’re going backward, no, it means you’re human. A human who burned a bridge, learned a lesson, and now occasionally romanticizes the smoke.

And so if you catch me standing by the river, laughing a little, crying a little, whispering “that was rough”—just know I’m okay.

I’m not rebuilding the bridge.

I’m just letting myself feel the wind where it used to be.