Bold Enough to Love Myself

 The wineglass trembled in her grasp, the crimson liquid swaying dangerously close to the edge. The city skyline stretched before her, a dazzling mess of golden lights and endless dark. A thousand stories hummed beneath her feet, lives entangled, people loving, breaking, rebuilding. And yet, she stood here, alone.

Not lonely. Just alone.

It had taken her years to understand the difference.

Vivienne set the glass down on the marble counter, her reflection in the window catching her eye. A woman draped in a silk robe, bare feet pressing into the cool floor, scars—visible and invisible—tracing the map of her history.

She used to hate that woman.

Used to drown in every rejection, every abandoned promise, every time she was someone’s almost but never enough. She had spent years chasing validation like a dying ember, burning herself out in the process.

Not anymore.

Tonight was the funeral of her past self.

With a steady inhale, she reached for the letter she had written days ago. The ink had smudged where her hands had shaken, but the words remained. A eulogy, an apology, a love letter to the version of her that had suffered in silence.

Dear Me,
I’m sorry for every time I abandoned you. For every time I begged someone else to love you because I couldn’t. I see you now. I see the way you held yourself together when the world pulled you apart. And I love you. God, I love you.
Tonight, I let you rest.
Tonight, I rise.
- Vivienne

A sharp knock at the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Crossing the room, she pulled it open to find a delivery man holding a single white envelope.

“For you, ma’am.”

She frowned, took it, and closed the door. The handwriting on the front was hers. But she hadn’t sent it.

Inside, a single sentence in bold ink:
You are worth the love you give.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes.

The universe was listening.

A trembling laugh escaped her lips as she stepped out onto the balcony, letting the night air cleanse her. This was it. The moment she stopped waiting. The moment she loved herself the way she had begged others to.

She raised her glass to the stars, to the ghosts of who she was, to the woman she was becoming.

A bold move indeed.