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7: Leave The bridge

That tenderness I felt. So weird. It's like I could feel your embrace around me. Am I hallucinating again?

But no, I truly can feel it. Maybe you're praying for me. Maybe you're just thinking about me.

What are you doing up so late?

I miss when you used to wake me up at night because you weren't able to sleep. As much as it bothered me to know you're still up, I was so flattered you would rather choose to spend it with me rather than anyone or anything else.

Maybe this isn't bad. Maybe it's okay to feel this way. It's okay to feel incomplete.

I don't know. Everything inside of me now feels shifted. The hollowness that was once within me is being filled by the rays of sunshine slowly rising.

That warmth. I no longer feel ache in my heart.

That sense of something holding you close even when you're alone. It's easy to dismiss it as a trick of the mind, another figment of this night on the ledge.

But what if it's not? What if the voice, that spark of hope you nurtured, is more than just a figment? Maybe it's a culmination of all the love that surrounds me, a love that transcends physical presence.

Perhaps it's the love of those who worry about me, who would be devastated by my absence. Maybe it's even a reflection of my own self-love, that ember growing into a flame, radiating warmth and acceptance.

The thought brings a smile to my lips, a small, trembling thing that feels genuine for the first time in a long while.

Maybe missing that, missing her, is a sign of something good. It means I'm still capable of love, of connection.

And maybe, just maybe, that connection isn't limited to those physically present. Maybe it can stretch across miles and misunderstandings, a silent thread weaving its way through the fabric of my own existence.

The feeling of completeness might not come rushing back all at once. But with each passing moment, with each flicker of hope, the hollowness recedes. The warmth I feel isn't just a physical absence of pain. It's a warmth that comes from within, a spark turning into a flame, a testament to my resilience, my strength.

Taking another breath, deeper this time, I raise my chin. The world looks different from this height, but not insurmountable.

The path ahead might still be unclear, but the first rays of dawn paint the horizon with a soft, hopeful glow. And from within, a tiny flame flickers, a promise whispered on the wind: You're not alone.

You are strong.

And you will keep moving forward.