I used to think forgiveness was like a switch I could flip, a single decision made in a moment. Now I see it's more like learning to breathe again after you thought you'd drowned. I used to think moving on meant forgetting. Like erasing a chalkboard. But it's not, is it? It's more like learning to live with a ghost – knowing it's there, feeling its presence sometimes, but not letting it control the house. I thought closure was a courtroom, a final gavel. But it’s a garden, isn’t it? Constant tending, weeding out the bitterness, hoping something beautiful will grow in the spaces where hurt used to bloom…and knowing that sometimes, the weeds win. It's okay. It happens.