Being Brave

I have decided. In a few weeks, things will go back the way they’re supposed to be. And my world will never be the same again. I would have lost him, and I would have gained my sense of self again. Something lost, something gained. But I feel like I’m losing more than I think I’m getting back.

I pray almost constantly now, “Send me a sign,” I plead, “If I should give this all up, if I should give him up.” A little guidance never hurt anyone, and I desperately need one right now. There is a voice in my head that tells me, “But you already know what to do.” And I do. Let him go.

After what seems to be an eternity battling him and myself, I received the final straw, and I have finally every reason to end it, and I’m pretty sure he will agree. Reason and logic has won, and I should be rejoicing, after all, it’s what is right. But it feels like I just died.

I can’t wait for the day to come, but I also want it to take forever to come. I imagine how it will all go down—he will calmly take my decision, tell me he understands it. He will be silent for a moment, his face grave. But he will never let me know what he feels, not for a moment will he risk putting his heart on his sleeve. And I will be firm in my decision, I will be strong, but the whole time, I will be wishing that he fight me, that he fight for me. But I know he won’t.

Doing the right thing is not always easy, and sometimes it can bring you pain. But I know, that despite that, it should bring you a sense of calm, like a heavy load has been lifted. C told me, being the good and faithful person she is, “Being at peace with yourself is a direct result of finding peace with God.”

I am not in peace. I am not in peace.