There's a difference between moving on and letting go.
Moving on means forgetting. Or trying to.
Letting go means remembering — without needing to hold it anymore.
I didn't know that until Jace.
That night, the rain fell with a kind of softness I used to dream about.
Jace and I sat on the floor of my apartment, back against the couch, bowls of takeout beside us, a movie playing in the background neither of us was really watching.
He was telling me about a playlist he made — something about road trips and guitars and how his sister used to burn CDs for him when he was sad.
I smiled, listening.
He was easy to be around. Safe. Gentle.
But as he spoke, a strange ache rose in my chest — uninvited, familiar.
Elián would've hated this song.
He always said acoustic guitars made him feel exposed. Too raw, too vulnerable. He liked silence better. Or electronic music — something to disappear into.
I blinked the memory away.
"You okay?" Jace asked, reaching for my hand. His voice always landed like a soft landing.
I nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."
He looked at me like he knew I was lying, but didn't want to ask why.
After he left that night, I sat by the window.
The rain had stopped, but the city still glowed — neon lights smudged across wet pavement.
And in the quiet, the words came again.
Words I never said. Words that lived in the marrow of me.
I waited.
I waited for him in dreams,
in silence,
in the spaces between moments that didn't belong to anyone else.
I waited in this life too.
Not because I believed he would come back.
Not because I was clinging to false hope.
But because love — the kind that touches your soul — doesn't work in timelines.
It doesn't end with goodbyes.
It waits.
Some days, I walked the city like someone hoping to collide with the past.
I'd pass the cafes we used to linger near. The elevators where silence stretched too long. The sidewalks where our shadows once fell beside each other.
And I'd wonder…
Would I run into him?
Would he still smell like Eros?
Would he look the same — soft eyes, half-smile, mystery?
And if I saw him,
would my heart survive it?
I'm not afraid of the memory anymore.
I used to be.
Used to flinch at the thought of him turning a corner, saying my name, undoing everything I'd tried to rebuild.
But now…
I think I could face him.
Because I'm not the same girl who waited with trembling hope.
I am someone who loves quietly, and deeply, without needing a name.
Without needing a promise.
There's a strange kind of peace in surrender.
The moment you stop fighting to hold on —
The moment you stop chasing what isn't yours —
You realize something beautiful:
You weren't losing them.
You were just learning to love them differently.
From afar.
Without expectations.
Without conditions.
I learned to carry that love like a secret flame.
Soft. Steady. Warm.
Not burning me anymore.
Just lighting the way forward.
Because sometimes, loving someone means letting them go.
Not because they weren't worth it.
But because you are.
Jace messaged me at midnight.
JACE: hey
can I ask you something
and you don't have to answer right away
I stared at the screen for a second before typing back.
MARA: sure
what is it?
A minute passed.
Then two.
And then —
JACE:
do you ever think of him when you're with me?
I didn't answer.
Not because I didn't know what to say.
But because I did.
I met Jace the week I stopped believing love could still happen in this lifetime.
He was sunlight after a long season of fog.
Not loud. Not all at once.
But steady.
He didn't make me forget Elián.
He just reminded me that I was still here.
Still alive.
Still capable of being seen in the now — not just remembered by someone who let me go.
I typed slowly.
MARA:
sometimes.
but I don't wish it was him anymore.
I just… still carry him.
like a part of me, that's quiet now.
Another pause.
JACE:
does it hurt?
MARA:
not the way it used to.
it just… is.
like a scar you forget is there until the light hits it a certain way.
He replied with just one message.
JACE:
thank you for telling me.
and for letting me be here anyway.
I waited in this life too.
For a love that may never be mine.
For a soul that was never mine to keep.
And now, finally, I know:
I don't need him to come back.
I don't need answers.
Because in the waiting, I found myself.
In the letting go, I found grace.
And in the loving without limits —
in this slow blooming with Jace —
I found a quieter kind of freedom.
One that doesn't forget the past.
But doesn't live there anymore.
Maybe some loves are not meant to be held.
They're meant to be remembered.
And so I walk forward.
Not with empty hands.
But with open ones.
And this time, maybe I'm ready to hold something new.
Maybe someone.
Maybe me