The Key to Closure

I searched for closure like a sacred prize,

A lock someone else held behind veiled their eyes.

I thought the words I’d never heard would set me free—

An apology, an answer, an acknowledgment of me.

I held my breath, waiting for their move,

For their remorse, their grace, and their need to improve.

But days turned to years, and the silence grew tall,

A fortress of pain, no words at all.

I wandered the edges of my fraying mind,

Clutching the scars they’d left behind.

Blaming their hands, their hearts, their way,

For stealing my peace and the light of day.

Until the mirror whispered clearly:

“You’ve waited too long; the answer is here.

Not in their mouths, not in their deeds,

But in your own hands lies the key you need.”

I fought the truth; it stung like a thorn,

I craved their atonement, their sense of scorn.

But what if the power had never been theirs?

What if my freedom grew from my cares?

I stood with my past, my wounds laid bare,

Each aching memory, the pain I’d wear.

And slowly, I saw, in my heart’s tender shade,

I was holding the lock I thought they had made.

Forgiveness, I learned, was never a gift

For the ones who caused my soul to drift.

It wasn’t a pardon, it wasn’t for them—

It was me cutting ties to sorrow’s stem.

I allowed myself to grieve, to mend,

To rewrite the stories I thought wouldn’t end.

I let the pain rise like the tide’s endless song,

But chose to release what I’d carried for so long.

Closure, I found, wasn’t their burden to bear,

It was a choice for me to no longer despair.

To meet my pain with compassion, not shame,

And reclaim the power I’d tied to their name.

I crafted rituals of healing and care—

Letters unsent, words whispered to air.

I burned the anger in flames that glowed,

Letting the ashes reveal the road.

Their prisoner were no longer confined,

I rewrote my story in prose that was kind.

For I am the author, the keeper, the guide,

Of the life I now lead with hope by my side.

And in holding space for myself, I found peace—

A sacred acknowledgment that brought release.

It wasn’t about them; it was never their role—

It was about honouring my journey and reclaiming my soul.

There’s no magic moment, no perfect phrase,

No instant release from the darkest days.

But each step I take on this path of my own

Plants a seed of self-love I’ve carefully sown.

I learned to be patient, to sit with my pain,

To feel it, to know it, to let it explain.

And then to decide, with courage and grace,

That I could still stand, that I had my place.

For closure isn’t a gift we receive—

It’s the act of choosing to believe

That we are enough, that we are whole,

Even with shadows that whisper to the soul.

So give yourself closure; you hold the key,

No need for their permission to simply be free.

Honour your journey, embrace each scar,

For they’ve shaped the resilient soul that you are.

Release the pain, let it drift away,

And hold space for healing every day.

Empower your heart and break every tether.

And as the days stretched into skies of gold,

I found a truth that was mine to hold:

Closure isn’t an end but a way to begin—

To step from the shadow and welcome the wind.

I breathe in the now, no longer confined,

By the weight of the past I’ve left behind.

For every scar, every tear I’ve shed,

Has paved the path where my soul is led.

I am free, I am whole, and I choose what’s ahead.