Letting Go After Two Years

I lie in bed, Younger playing in the background, as my phone lights up with a message from someone new—a man promising me the world. But I hesitate.

Why?

Because deep down, I know I’m still holding onto the past.

I sit there, frozen in the realization. It’s been two years, and I’m still not over my ex. A familiar story—one many women in their twenties know all too well.

I type through tears, my breath shaky, my heart heavy.

I miss him.

I miss his warmth, his kiss, his gentleness. His voice. His laugh. His smile. His eyes. I can still feel the way his arms wrapped around me, how I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach him—his 6’7” towering over my 5’5” frame. It wasn’t easy, but it was ours. It was love.

And now, it’s gone.

The bed feels so empty without him.

The nights are too quiet without his snoring and sleep talking beside me. I used to nudge him in the middle of the night, half-annoyed at how loud he was, but now? Now, I’d give anything to hear his sleepy, incoherent murmurs again. I never thought silence could be so loud.

I have so many regrets. We were young and immature, too reckless to nurture what we had, too naive to see what we were losing. And now, after growing, after understanding love in ways I never did before, all I can think about is what could have been. What it would be like if we had another chance. How great it could be.

We weren’t perfect, but we never fought. He was patient and kind, though not always wise. Some things still sting, wounds that haven’t fully healed, but I know—he loved me.

He loved me.

And now, that love is a distant memory, something that feels like another lifetime.

The two-year mark is approaching. I have now been single for as long as we were together. But while I stayed alone, he moved on. He’s engaged now.

Something I always knew would happen.

I think back to a conversation we had nearly a year into dating. We both agreed that if we ever ended things, we wouldn’t stay friends. I told him I would take time for myself, and he said he would too—but not for too long.

And he meant it.

Six months after we broke up, he found someone new. A year later, he put a ring on her finger. And me? I still search for him in every man I meet.

I go into every date knowing it won’t go anywhere—hoping it will, but also knowing deep down that it won’t. I cry after every failed attempt, grieving him all over again. And when I do find someone who feels different, someone who seems worth it, I become consumed. I pour myself into them too quickly, mistaking the ache for love, mistaking their presence for healing. But it’s not love.

It’s just me, trying to bury my heartbreak in someone new.

I’ve spent countless nights on my knees, begging, pleading with God to bring him back to me. To rewrite our story. To give us another chance. But that isn’t His plan. And I am still trying—failing—to accept it.

The truth is, I don’t want to accept it.

My soul aches for what we had. For the innocence of our beginning. We were just kids—18 and 19—learning love for the first time. I had never known someone so patient. But we were also reckless, immature. And deep down, we both knew we weren’t going to last.

That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

How do you move on from your first love? From the person you thought would be your person forever? In a world where getting back with your ex is romanticized, how do you heal when you know that door is closed for good? When you watch him love someone else the way he once loved you?

But the thing is… I am happy for him.

I truly am.

He found his person—the one meant for him. And even though it wasn’t me, even though it still stings in places I didn’t know existed, I can’t wish him anything but happiness. Because I loved him. And love—real love—is selfless.

And so, I turn to God.

Through all of this, He has been my anchor, even when I felt like I was drowning. Every tear I’ve cried, every prayer I’ve whispered in desperation, He has heard. And even though I don’t understand His plan right now, I trust that He is leading me somewhere greater than I could ever imagine.

I have grown so much in these two years. I have learned patience, resilience, and faith in a way I never had before. I have learned that healing is not about finding someone new to fill the void but about letting God fill it instead. I still wish things had been different. I still wish we could have grown together, that we could have matured into the people we were meant to be side by side. But that wasn’t our path.

And that’s okay.

Because I know that every closed door is leading me toward something better. I know that God has something beautiful planned for me, something far beyond what I can see right now. And maybe one day, I’ll look back on this chapter and understand why it had to happen this way.

For now, I take a deep breath.

I have all this love and nowhere to put it.

But maybe that is my answer.

Maybe it’s my sign to stop holding onto something that isn’t mine anymore. To stop searching for him in places he was never meant to be.

Maybe it’s time to take all of this love—all of this energy—and give it to God.

Because He has never left.

And He never will.