Letting Go of the Past

Dear Delyara, I carried a small, ribbon-bound bundle of letters from an ex-partner—someone who broke my trust in the most devastating way six years ago—down to the high street tonight. I’ve kept them in a shoebox at the back of my wardrobe through three separate house moves, constantly holding onto them like a painful receipt for a debt that would never be paid. I stood by the large blue recycling bin outside the station, looked at the handwriting on the top envelope for three seconds, and then I dropped the entire bundle through the slot. I heard them hit the bottom with a soft, paper thud. Walking back up the hill to my flat, I felt a physical lightness in my chest that felt like an absolute liberation. I am finally done indexing old injuries; my future deserves the space those ghosts were occupying.