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"You will heal."
“You will heal, you know.”
Camila’s voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret she’s held onto for too long. I shake my head, not quite believing her, but she doesn’t stop. “I know it seems impossible right now, Liv, like the hurt is stuck to you, but it won’t always be this way.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, calm and unwavering. I want to argue, to tell her this pain feels different, like it’s here to stay, but she keeps going. “One day,” she says, “you’ll think of him, and your eyes will stay dry. You’ll remember his laugh, the way his eyes held the stars, and you’ll smile. Not because you’re still hurting, but because those moments were real. You’ll look back, and maybe you’ll feel a bit of longing, but not the pain.”
It sounds impossible—smiling at memories that still cut deep. But there’s something in her voice, a quiet conviction, that makes me want to believe. “You will heal,” she repeats, leaning in, squeezing my hand. “And you’ll grow. You won’t be the same person you are now, and that’s okay. He’ll still be there, etched in your mind, in your heart, maybe even in your soul. But that won’t be a bad thing. Not really.”
I don’t say anything, just let her words sink in, hoping she’s right. “Think of him like a beautiful place you’ve been to,” Camila continues, her tone gentle, “a breathtaking paradise. It was wonderful, but it’s not your home. You need to find your way back, and you will.”
She pauses, a small smile playing on her lips. “I hope you get there soon, Liv,” she whispers. “You deserve to be home again.”
For the first time in a long while, I start to think maybe my bestfriend is right.
© reddragonfly
Camila’s voice is soft, like she’s sharing a secret she’s held onto for too long. I shake my head, not quite believing her, but she doesn’t stop. “I know it seems impossible right now, Liv, like the hurt is stuck to you, but it won’t always be this way.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, calm and unwavering. I want to argue, to tell her this pain feels different, like it’s here to stay, but she keeps going. “One day,” she says, “you’ll think of him, and your eyes will stay dry. You’ll remember his laugh, the way his eyes held the stars, and you’ll smile. Not because you’re still hurting, but because those moments were real. You’ll look back, and maybe you’ll feel a bit of longing, but not the pain.”
It sounds impossible—smiling at memories that still cut deep. But there’s something in her voice, a quiet conviction, that makes me want to believe. “You will heal,” she repeats, leaning in, squeezing my hand. “And you’ll grow. You won’t be the same person you are now, and that’s okay. He’ll still be there, etched in your mind, in your heart, maybe even in your soul. But that won’t be a bad thing. Not really.”
I don’t say anything, just let her words sink in, hoping she’s right. “Think of him like a beautiful place you’ve been to,” Camila continues, her tone gentle, “a breathtaking paradise. It was wonderful, but it’s not your home. You need to find your way back, and you will.”
She pauses, a small smile playing on her lips. “I hope you get there soon, Liv,” she whispers. “You deserve to be home again.”
For the first time in a long while, I start to think maybe my bestfriend is right.
© reddragonfly
