Through the Fog

Tag: moving forward

  • The Weight I Carry

    Some days

    I carry the weight of everything—

    every mistake,

    every goodbye,

    every version of myself

    I wish I could forget.

    Not because I want to.

    Because it follows me.

    In quiet moments.

    In songs I didn’t expect.

    In the pause

    between one thought

    and the next.

    I tell myself

    to put it down.

    As if grief

    is something you can leave

    on a table

    and walk away from.

    But some things

    cling to your hands.

    Some memories

    learn your shape

    so well

    they fit inside you

    like they were always meant

    to live there.

    And maybe

    that’s what growing older is—

    not learning how to forget,

    but learning how to carry

    what stays.

    The regrets.

    The losses.

    The people

    who became stories

    instead of futures.

    Still—

    I keep moving.

    Not because the weight

    gets lighter.

    But because somewhere along the way

    I got stronger

    than the things

    trying to drag me down.

    And maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe survival

    isn’t the absence of burden—

    maybe it’s learning

    how to walk forward

    with it anyway.

  • Burning Bridges of My Memory

    I’ve been burning bridges

    inside my own mind—

    not the ones that lead to people,

    but the ones that lead back

    to who I was with them.

    Setting fire to moments

    I used to walk across

    like they meant something.

    Laughter goes first—

    it’s the easiest to doubt.

    Then the soft parts,

    the almosts,

    the things I held onto

    because they felt real enough

    to keep.

    I tell myself

    it’s necessary.

    That if I leave those paths standing,

    I’ll keep wandering back,

    keep looking for something

    that isn’t there anymore.

    So I light the match.

    Watch memories catch

    quicker than I expect.

    Turns out

    it doesn’t take much

    to turn a past into smoke.

    But the strange thing is—

    even when the bridge is gone,

    even when the fire settles

    and everything falls quiet—

    I still remember

    what it felt like

    to cross it.

    The shape of it.

    The way it held my weight.

    The way it led somewhere

    I thought I’d stay.

    And maybe that’s the truth

    no one tells you—

    you can burn every path

    that leads backward,

    but you can’t erase

    the fact

    that you were once there,

    standing in the middle

    of something

    you believed in.