last letter

You crept toward the glow of an open door. You called to me, and I let you in. You met me where I was. You always have.

For Auld Lang Syne.

Once, you were enough. You loomed in winter’s shadows, filled empty spaces and found strength in my fear. But this year, I faced you and called you by name. Now I see you.

I see you.

But you are not the ugly monster I once imagined you to be. I was surprised to find traces of beauty and meaning in your countenance.

Let it be said, that you once were my teacher and my friend. Indeed you were my comfort and my companion. Many days, you were my security, my truth and my North. You served me. You helped to shape me, and you wove threads of depth, dimension and compassion into my character.

I see you.

I now see that you mattered. I see value in who you have been and what you have done. And today, on this New Year’s Eve, I thank you. I thank you for meeting me and holding me the best way you could. Sometimes you did.

But in the flicker of tonight’s candlelight, I also see that you paralyze, command and consume. You always have. You always will. So as the Light of a New Year beckons, I choose love. I am letting you go.

Although, you will remain a part of me and my story, I no longer need you for sustenance and strength. I will always remember the lessons you have taught, and I will behold these scars with a full heart. But tonight, I am ready to stand on my own feet. It is time for me to live – to run the race I was born to run. It is time for me to breathe and to laugh once again. It is time, and I am ready.

So with love, gratitude and a soulful embrace, I bid you adieu. Thank you, but no thank you. No longer.

~Abimbola