The Process of Letting Go

By Sweta Mishra

Part I: When Forgiveness First Knocks 

It didn’t arrive like light — 

no grand revelation, 

no sudden softening of the heart. 

Forgiveness came quietly, 

hesitant, trembling at the door 

of my still-hurting soul. 

I wasn’t ready to open it. 

How do you forgive 

those who never saw your breaking, 

who smiled while you swallowed your words, 

who called your distance pride? 

Yet some nights, 

the weight of resentment 

grew heavier than the pain itself. 

And I realized — 

hate had become a room 

I no longer wished to live in. 

So I cracked the door, 

just enough to let peace peek through. 

It didn’t erase the past, 

it only softened the edges. 

Some memories still sting, 

but they no longer define me. 

I still remember what was said, 

but I no longer wish to return the hurt.

Maybe that’s what forgiveness really is — 

not a gift to them, 

but a small mercy to yourself, 

the moment you whisper, 

I release you — not for you, 

but for me. 

Part II: Crossing Paths Without Carrying the Past 

We grew from the same soil, 

yet somewhere between seasons, 

our roots forgot how to intertwine. 

Love once bloomed here — quietly, fiercely — 

until silence became our language, 

and distance became our peace. 

I tried to hold the bond together, 

threading forgiveness through every hurt, 

but some fabrics tear too deeply to mend. 

Now I no longer chase the warmth 

that used to live between us — 

I’ve learned to build my own. 

If our eyes meet across a family room, 

I will not look away, 

nor will I smile to hide what was lost. 

I will simply exist — 

soft, steady, untethered — 

the way healing taught me to. 

There is no hate left, 

only the faint ache of acceptance. 

No need for grand gestures, 

no desire to return to what was.

We share a name, 

but we now walk separate stories — 

and that is okay. 

Because even broken bonds 

can leave behind a quiet kind of grace, the kind that whispers — 

You have finally made peace 

with loving from afar. 

Part III: And Then, There Was Peace 

It didn’t happen suddenly — 

no sunrise moment, 

no tears on the floor this time. 

Just one morning, 

my heart felt lighter 

for no particular reason. 

I looked back and realized — 

the storm had passed. 

The words once stuck in my throat 

had lost their power, 

the memories had turned into stories 

I could finally tell 

without breaking. 

Forgiveness no longer felt like effort; 

it had become air — 

something I breathed 

without thinking about it. 

I stopped rehearsing pain 

and started living in calm. 

I began to see beauty again — 

in morning light, 

in small wins,

in my own reflection. 

There was no reunion, 

no apology, 

no grand closure. 

Just the quiet truth 

that I didn’t need either. 

Peace had found me — 

not in their return, 

but in my release. 

And maybe that’s the real ending —

not mended bonds or perfect goodbyes,

but standing on your own two feet 

with softness in your heart 

and strength in your eyes, 

whispering to yourself, 

I made it through, 

and I am free. 

Part IV: What I Couldn’t Say Then 

There are things I wish I’d said differently.

Moments when anger spoke for me 

before my heart could find softer words.

I am not proud of every sentence I threw,

but I know now — 

those words were born from pain, 

not malice. 

I said harsh things, 

and I am sorry for them. 

But they were not the beginning — 

they were the echo 

of the hurt that reached me first.

I was called names I did not deserve,

pushed in ways I could not forget,

and struck by the very hand 

that once promised protection —

the same hand 

I had tied Rakhi on. 

That moment tore something in me

that apologies can never fully mend.

Yet I forgave. 

I let my heart believe again, 

gave another chance 

in the hope that love might return

and respect might find its way home. 

But did it go well? 

No. 

Things worsened again — 

the words sharper, 

the silences colder, 

the distance beyond repair. 

And so I learned — 

forgiveness does not always bring peace,

and second chances do not always heal.

Sometimes they simply remind you

of why you had to let go the first time. 

Still, I hold no bitterness now —

only truth, 

and the strength to never forget

what I deserve. 

My apology is not surrender —

it is strength. 

It is me saying:

I see my part, I forgive yours,

and I choose to move on

without the weight of either.

By Sweta Mishra