The Peace You Begged For

The quiet after heartbreak isn’t emptiness — it’s recovery.

Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

There’s a kind of guardedness that people mistake for pride, but really, it’s just peace — the kind you begged for in tears years ago, back when you still believed that loving harder could fix things.

I feel it now — this strange quiet around him.

I no longer speak with ease or let words spill without thought.

I measure them. I study the tone.

I calculate what peace is worth in that moment.

It’s not because I’m bitter; it’s because I’ve learned.

He’s probably wondering why I’m not as open, why I don’t unbuckle the way I used to after every fallout.

He’s used to me being quick to forgive, to move on, to laugh again as if the cracks never happened.

But something in me changed — or maybe it finally listened.

I’m not performing calm anymore.

I’m choosing it.

The old me would’ve tried to prove that I was fine — that I still had grace, that love could survive anything.

But the new me doesn’t need to prove softness anymore.