Closure.

There's a certain kind of silence that follows heartbreak - not just the absence of a person, but the sudden stillness of dreams that once moved.

The plans.

The places.

The imagined "somedays" that now float in the air like unanswered questions.

I didn't just lose someone.

I lost a travel partner.

A co-navigator.

Someone I thought I'd see the world with.

And we had already started.

We boarded planes.

Watched sunsets in unfamiliar cities.

Laughed through layovers. Got lost on purpose.

Those passport stamps weren't just destinations - they were promises.

Proof of something we were building.

And then, it ended.

Suddenly. Quietly. painfully.

What followed was everything you'd expect: tears, begging, the unwillingness to let go.

Too many once in a lifetime moments now sit in memory, weighty and uninvited.

Too many stories that feel unfinished.

When you meet someone halfway across the world

When they live in a completely different country

And they choose to leave

To vanish

It hurts.

The thought of boarding a plane becomes heavier than any luggage.

Places you once dreamed of now sting with the echo of what could've been.

The world didn't shrink - but somehow, it feels emptier.

and maybe to you, it was just another trip.

maybe I was just another person around to keep you company

but to me, it meant something.

I thought it was the start of forever.

How do you keep exploring when the map itself is stitched with reminders of someone who was supposed to be beside you?

Grief doesn't always scream.

Sometimes, it sounds like exhaustion.

Sometimes, it's just a quiet " I don't want to go anymore."

But even in that stillness, something soft begins to stir.

A whisper, not a command:

"you're still allowed to move"

Traveling after heartbreak isn't about forgetting.

It's about reclaiming.

It's the slow, sacred work of realizing that the love you lost shaped your path - but it doesn't have to define your destination.

You can still chase sunsets.

Still meet strangers.

Still fall in love with places - and maybe in time, someone new.

Or maybe just with yourself, in ways you never expected.

The world is still vast.

Still waiting.