To let go is to hold on.

Written in response to: "Write a story in which the first and last sentence are the same."

Romance Sad

[Contains themes of heartbreak, loss, and emotional pain]


To let go, is to hold on.


Letting go of you was the most heart-wrenching thing I had to do. The tapestry of my heart, now unwoven without you, will never return to its original order.


To hold your hand in my hand was a blessing I can never receive again. To gaze at the stars in your presence was a reverie I can never feel again. To look into your eyes and see only love was an ephemeral beauty I can never experience again.


Do you remember the days when we used to hide behind a book and share secrets in hushed whispers, afraid someone might hear them? Do you remember the days when we used to sneak out alcohol and ride the high of getting intoxicated while talking about the tragedies our lives were? Do you remember the days when we used to melt into each other's embrace for what felt like eternities, wishing it would never end?


What was our love, really? Was it fleeting, or was it something more? I thought it was unshakable, like a stone carved into the mountain of time. But now, I wonder. Was it built to last, or was it always meant to fade into something else? Perhaps love is like the tide, always coming and going, never staying in one place. Or maybe it was just the universe’s way of reminding me that nothing is permanent. That the things we hold dear are, in the end, just borrowed moments.


My hand reached for yours in the dark, and initially, you held on. Our fingers enveloping each other in a tight embrace as if we would fall apart if not with each other. But as time passed us by, my fingers felt bereft of yours as they slowly slipped away into another direction, into another darkness, one where my hand could not reach for yours.


I sat there, saturnine, in the dim light of the room, my mind circling in on itself, trying to understand why you never reached for me again. Why did you stop talking to me? Was it something I did? Was it something I failed to notice? My heart begged for answers that I didn’t have the courage to ask, and yet, I already knew the truth I feared: our time together mirrored the grains falling in an hourglass. Each grain a memory of ours. Each grain a remembrance of how limited our time was together.


To know such a thing was one which crippled me to my knees, causing me to fall to the harsh, cold floor. And there I laid, in a fetal position, with tears flowing mercilessly, carving rivers on my cheeks, slowly eroding the person I once was. My heart was now beating, not out of love, only out of obligation.


Accepting a fate such as ours was no easy feat. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days and days felt like months. And still my mind, foolishly, was stuck like a broken clock. Stuck on the realization that you had to be let go.


Saudade was what I felt. Longing for your familiarity, your warmth, your embrace. Alongside, a nostalgia coursed through my veins, in your yearning - something I never wished to experience again.


Your presence now felt evanescent.


One day, I will chase my dreams. Like a child running through a garden of butterflies. With the same fervor I once dreamed of building a life with you. But I will no longer be blissfully ignorant of the fragility of those dreams, like I was when we spoke about them late at night, imagining a future where everything seemed possible. One day, I will be married. Probably to someone I met during my primitive years of education or while facing the harsh realities in this cut-throat world. Probably to someone who will never hear about you, never hear about our stories I hold so dear. Probably to someone who I will compare against you because you set the standard for solace, love, and acceptance. One day, I will have children. Children I dreamt of having with you, even if idealistic, it was a dream of mine. Children who will hear our story only when they stain their cheeks with streams of tears caused by their first brush with a love's bitter farewell. Children who will never hear about you more than once. One day, I will grow old. Old with someone who will make my soul feel alive. Old with someone who will remind me of the love they hold for me in each passing moment. Old with someone else, not you. And over the years, I will still wonder what it would have been like to have grown old beside you. To sit together, hand in hand, watching the world change, feeling the weight of time in the gentle rhythm of our breaths.


As I sit here and pen this down, I think of all the times the universe hinted to us of our fate, albeit very subtle to notice. I think of all the times we listened to the same melody, over and over, while staring at the ceiling, thinking of how our fingers would wrinkle together. I think of all the times we promised our never-ending love for one another, though it felt platonic on the surface, we both knew it was more than just that. Much more than that.


In releasing you, I hold onto all the memories I hold of you. Of your bright smile. Of your joyous laugh. Of your twinkling eyes.

In releasing you, I hold onto the fading memory of the love we shared. The love we held. The love we nurtured.

In releasing you, I hold onto the strength you gave me. To the lessons you taught me. To the meaning you provided me.


To let go is to hold on. Hold on to you, if just for this very last time.

To let go is to hold on. Hold on to us, even if not truly mine.

To let go is to hold on. Hold on to myself, the shell I will let go with you.


To let go is to hold on...


To let go is to hold on.

Posted Mar 17, 2025
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