Who am I after all this time?

i remember staring at the same blank wall for hours, just waiting for my ex to text from shanghai. 7 years of long long distance… i thought loving someone meant disappearing a little every day. i stopped dancing, stopped meeting friends, even forgot how my favorite songs went. one day i saw an old sketchbook under the bed — half-drawn faces, cafe corners, sunsets i never finished. it hit me: i wasn’t being patient, i was just… paused. you don’t have to choose between him and yourself. but you gotta start small. next time he says he’s busy, go to that cafe you used to love. order the same drink, bring a notebook. draw one thing. just one. not for anyone else, just to remind your hands what they used to know. my family said i was wasting time too. “a good man is rare,” they said. but a life half-lived? that’s rare too. paint again. even if it’s messy. even if no one sees it. it’s yours. ❤️