It's okay to feel sad.To want comfort. To feel the urge to make contact, physical or otherwise. It's okay to cry. It's okay to feel like shit, like you just can't go on. It's okay to want to hope, to have hope, to feel betrayed. It's okay if it is an emotional roller coaster. It's okay to want to get off and yet not be able to. It's okay to want to hold on and let go at the same time. It's good to write. It's good to feel. It's good to numb the pain, with ice cream and watchseries and cats. It's okay to want to escape. It's okay to bother friends at odd hours. It's okay to feel angry, try to feel angry and fail. It's okay to indulge. It's okay to feel depressed. It's okay to have mood swings, to sing songs in voice subdued by tears. It's okay to once again love oneself with that old, newfound tenderness. It's okay to indulge in the breakup ritual of gifting oneself Calvin and Hobbes. It's okay to write letters, carefully composed and recomposed to oneself in one's head. Love letters. It's okay to want to escape into that reality where you can erase all your memories and yet have a happy ending. It's okay to want to move on, not want to move on, to be undecided. It's good to run, to laugh, to cook, to eat, to scratch the chins of cats and hug them to sleep. It's okay to long for a room of one's own, metaphorically and physically. It's okay to cry. Really, it is. It is okay to feel like shit. It's okay to take comfort in small things like the softness of the pillow and the purr of cats and watching cat videos. It's okay to feel banal and profound, melancholy and manic, hungry and satiated, hot and cold, driven and bored, inspired and insipid. It's all okay, all in a day's work. And it is going to be alright even if it that doesn't quite feel right, you melodrama queen, you deluded moron, you hopeless romantic, you wonderful, complex. complicated human thing. I love you, as always.