I Didn’t Read the Old Conversation Again

Dear Delyara, The day had been thin. I felt lonely. Some old part of me wanted familiar pain because familiar pain can feel like intimacy if it once belonged to love. I knew exactly where the old conversation lived, exactly which words would make me ache in the same known places, exactly how long the emotional aftertaste would last. This time, I didn’t open it. I let the loneliness remain loneliness instead of feeding it old wounds dressed as memory. That felt like recovery. Not because it felt good immediately. Because it did not add harm.