This morning I woke up. Not in the normal sense of the phrase, but I have a strange feeling that I did wake up from a metaphorical sleep.

I discovered that for the first time in the longest time, I can think of you without feeling that knife twisted in my heart, without feeling the poison coursing through my veins. I discovered that I felt good. I felt alive.

I smiled today—really smiled, with joy in my heart and a song in my voice. I was surprised at how different it felt from how I normally smiled or laughed—and I realized that I had been faking it. Imagine, for two years I’ve been faking this marvelous feeling within me, pretending that nothing was wrong and that I was just fine!

Those things—those letters you sent me from that time you visited California? That cat pillow that you gave me? Those hippie glasses, the Tablemaster cape, the painted Altoids tin?

I threw them out. I tossed them all into a bag, tied it, and threw it in the trash can! I didn’t even recycle—how do you like that, huh? All physical reminders of you have gone from my life, almost as though you were never there.

Bit by bit I am healing those scars on my soul. I am sweeping the cobwebs, left by you, from the vast corners of my consciousness and I am making room for other, better things. I have finally realized that I am a better person without you, and without you, I can spread my wings and soar.

Memories we made together are already faded, and soon they will disappear. I hope they do. I hope that soon, there won’t be any piece of you weighing me down any more.

Free, for the first time, from this invisible prison of iron bars. I can see the sun, feel the wind, smell the air—and none of it is marred by your shadow.