Sometimes letting go is not neat or linear. Sometimes it’s profoundly human and tender and tangled and messy . Sometimes it’s like this. Sometimes we don’t even know if we can let go. And that’s okay. It’s perfect. For when we hold ourselves so softly, feeling the twists and turns that feel messy and uncertain perhaps that’s exactly when we find our courage. Perhaps that’s when we find ourselves anew. I take shaky, tentative steps. Without the familiar comfort of your hand in mine, I don’t know where I’m going. I’m still not sure how to be without you. I’m still not certain how I can let you go. But I have to. Life is so mysterious. All these things bloom before my eyes that don’t make much sense, like the stringing list of “whys” or “hows” of what exactly went wrong between us. And the lingering question that drills holes in my heart, like: Was it my fault? And p...