Tamam

I reached out. Everything reminded me of her, I knew better. Still I don't know exactly what I was looking for. I have closure already, maybe it was to know how she was, maybe just to hear something from a time that felt real either way. I reached out and she replied. She's getting married. I sat with that for a moment. I don't know how long. Long enough. I thought about what to say. I could have said nothing. I could have said too much. I've done both before and neither served me. Instead I wrote two words. Tamam. All the best. And I meant it. That's the thing I keep coming back to. I meant it . There was no bitterness dressed as grace, no quiet hope that she'd read something between the lines. I genuinely wished her well and let it go. That felt like something I'd been working towards. I don't think you fall out of love with a person. I think you fall out of love with the version of yourself that existed inside that relationship. What I missed wasn't her specifically. It was the feeling of familiarity. Maybe that's what I was reaching for when I wrote. And she gave me what I needed by simply answering. Not because of what she said. Because of what I felt when she said it. Which was - okay. Just okay. Not devastated, not relieved, not hollow. Okay. I've been on the road for over 200 days, I sleep rough and count my pennies. Everyday I see more of the world and now it's my turn to get acquainted with Türkiye - the language, the culture, the history. She was Turkish, and maybe that's what brought her to mind. Her name is scattered around the country. I see her face daily. I see her father's bank everywhere. A constant reminder. I still care for her in memory. But I know we parted ways with good reasoning. Similar to my journey - looking back with fondness is okay. Wishing to go back because it felt comfortable and familiar, that's not what I do. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. I have a different mission.