Pieces of Me

Empty Spaces

Letting go of Mothey was like finally pulling off a bandage I’d kept on for far too long, clinging to it even though the wound beneath had already scarred. There was a strange kind of relief in the finality, yet it left me with a hollow ache, a reminder of all the hope I’d invested in something that was never real. After he drifted out of my life, I realized how much space I’d left open for him—space that now felt painfully empty.

At first, I filled that emptiness with anything I could find. I threw myself into my studies, drowned out the silence with music, and kept myself busy with friends, anything to avoid that echo of loneliness. But every time I passed the basketball court or caught sight of someone who looked vaguely like him, that hollow feeling rushed back, like a wave I couldn’t quite escape. It wasn’t him I missed, I knew that much. It was the idea of him—the comfort of having someone there, the illusion that someone understood me in a way I didn’t even understand myself.

As the weeks passed, I began to understand that healing wasn’t going to happen overnight. It wasn’t about erasing him from my memory or pretending those moments hadn’t mattered. It was about accepting that they did, but also knowing they weren’t the end of my story. I could take what I learned and use it, let it shape me instead of define me. Slowly, I began to reclaim that empty space, filling it with things that truly mattered to me.

I started exploring new interests, finding comfort in things I hadn’t given myself time for. Books that made me feel seen, music that resonated in a way his words never did, and friends who showed up without conditions or half-hearted gestures. These small, steady steps reminded me that life could be whole without needing someone to fill in the gaps. I didn’t need fragments of affection—I needed real connection, starting with the one I was building with myself.

One day, I returned to the court where I’d met him, standing there alone, feeling the weight of the memories but no longer feeling bound to them. The court was just a place, and he was just a person in a story that was beginning to fade. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, a release that felt like letting go of more than just him—it felt like letting go of the expectations I’d held over myself.

There was something peaceful about standing there, about knowing that I could rewrite my own narrative from here. I didn’t have to fill the empty spaces with anyone else’s presence. I could fill them with my dreams, my goals, and the unspoken promise that I’d never again settle for a love that wasn’t whole. In the end, maybe Mothey had given me the greatest gift of all—space to grow, space to love myself.

As I walked away from the court for the last time, I felt lighter, a quiet assurance settling within me. The journey was far from over, but for the first time, I wasn’t rushing to find someone to complete it with me. I was enough. And that realization, small but powerful, was the beginning of something real.