I’m done fighting.
I can’t pick the sword up anymore—even if I wanted to.
I don’t have it in me, and honestly? I don’t want to.
Cameron’s mom—her roles, her armor, her walls—they’re not needed anymore.
That version of me was built for survival. She was strong as hell, but she was tired.
She carried way too much for way too long.
She made everything okay when it wasn’t.
She kept everyone else alive while dying inside.
But now…
The armor’s off. It’s broken.
The walls? Crumbled.
The apartment? About to be empty, just like the old life I’m walking away from.
This is it. The last of Corydon. The last of the familiar.
The stuff I don’t need? It’s gone.
The bags I’ve been dragging around? I’m not taking them with me.
I’m surrendering.
Not giving up—just finally letting go.
Walking away from what was.
Making space for who I really am underneath it all.
This isn’t just a move.
It’s a rebirth.
