The Art Of Loving Kindness : A journey of forgiveness, compassion & love

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Dreaming in the Space Between ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Current evening :

As I lie here in bed, staring blankly at the cheap glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling, I am reminded of how small my universe feels. Each tiny dot a reflection of dreams I once thought I could have had, drifting in a sky that once felt so limitless. Now, they seem like reminders of what I've lost. I find myself caught in a swirl of emotions, tangled up in the threads of my past with my ex-fiancé, the man with whom I once thought I could build a life.

I can forgive the past—anyone's past, really. It's what we all carry; burdens of mistakes and memories that become a part of us. But what I cannot allow is the same old patterns and behaviors to repeat themselves. Mizo was a dreamer, a builder of grand plans that illuminated his every waking moment. But as those plans grew, so did the cracks in us. The brilliance of his ambitions only overshadowed the quiet desires I held. I never dreamed of marriage or wedding bells ringing through grand halls. Those visions were never mine. And he always understood that. Yet, in his excitement for our future, he began to weave dreams with threads that didn't include my soul.

There is a painful irony in being surrounded by love and yet feeling so alone but not lonely. Every scent, every song that wafts through the air, caressing memories I thought I could bury, plunges me back into the depths of what I had to walk away from. A perfume on a stranger, a melody that was once our song, dances around me, teasing me, dragging my heart into the abyss. I can't help but remember our rhythm—the way we fit so easily into the music of each other's lives. Or maybe I was just a note in his symphony, a fleeting sound lost to an orchestra that only knew crescendos.

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On good days, I manage to pull together the fragments of my life into a semblance of normalcy. I shared my current steps and daily habits. But every now and then, I trip over my own heart. Visiting a restaurant we once loved, watching a film we'd seen together, can shatter the delicate facade I've tried to construct. It feels like walking among ghosts, unseen and barely felt, yet oh-so-painfully present. For every smile I wear in the daylight, there's a shadow in the night—a part of me that aches for the familiarity of Mizo's laughter, his warmth, the way he made every whim seem within reach.

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And yet, I know that stepping away was the right decision. The pain tells me that it wasn't easy; not a day goes by that I don't churn in grief over the memories. I extend my forgiveness to Mizo for the man he had been—the good times, the laughter, even the mistakes. But I could no longer embrace the patterns that threatened to drown me. I had to let go of the comforting illusion of a life fashioned on hope and unrequited love. Though I know it was for the best, I can't help but crave the comfort of familiarity. Revolutionary as it felt, I had to choose myself, to seek healing that surfaces beneath the weight of heartbreak.

I write this book not as a tale of loss alone but as a journey toward closure. A reflection of how I am trying to stitch the pieces of my spirit back together, piece by fragile piece. Each chapter might hurt, but they also celebrate resilience—a chance to convert that heartache into something meaningful.

Even as I learn to cope, the hiccups of memory continue to haunt me. But perhaps I can transform this pain into art, into healing, into something that rises above the echoes of yesterday. I am still here, staring at my ceiling, hoping that, one day, I will see a sky full of stars that no longer remind me of what was lost but of what I can still create. 

Maybe it's okay to wade through grief for a while longer. Maybe it's okay that it's not over yet. As I lie here beneath those stars, I remind myself that I'm seeking closure, but I am also seeking something more—something that flashes in the distance, just beyond the horizon. It's the possibility of loving myself fully and gifting myself new dreams, dreams that are my own.

And so I continue working through the beating heart that remembers love and loss. Because in that space—there's a story alive, still unfolding, still with the potential for hope.