writing prompts for moving on

moving on is mostly small, undramatic choices made again and again. these prompts honor the small ones.

• i don't want to start over with someone new and explain all my shit again. do you feel that.
• what would it take to feel like a beginning instead of an aftermath.
• name the first day you noticed you thought about them less. did it scare you.
• who are you when you're not orbiting them. be honest.
• i don't want to be brave. i just want to wake up and not reach for my phone first.
• finish this: the version of me that comes after this is
• what do you want to keep, and what are you finally allowed to put down.
• there was a whole life you planned around them. what gets to be yours now.
• i caught myself laughing today and didn't feel guilty after. is that what this is.
• what would you do this week if you weren't waiting for them to come back.
• the thought of explaining my history to someone new makes me tired. tell me it gets lighter.
• what is one thing that's yours again that used to be ours.
• i don't want a clean slate. i just want to stop flinching at their name.
• when did the silence in your apartment stop sounding like loss.
• finish this: i used to dread the mornings, but lately
• what would it take to stop measuring time in how long since they left.
• you're allowed to want a future that doesn't include them. say it out loud.
• name a small forward thing you did today that nobody would even notice.
• i don't want to start dating. i don't want to be alone either. where does that leave me.
• what part of yourself did you bury for them that you want back.
• the day you stop checking if they've seen it. what does that day look like.
• i keep waiting to feel ready. what if i just go before i'm ready.
• what would you tell the next person about you, if you weren't afraid of scaring them.
• finish this: the song that used to wreck me now just feels like
• you survived the version of you that didn't think you'd survive. what now.
• what does a tuesday look like when it isn't about them anymore.
• i don't miss them today. i miss missing them, which is somehow worse. is it.
• what are you slowly becoming that they never got to meet.
• the idea of someone new touching the parts they touched. terrifying or freeing. which.
• name the moment you realized you stopped editing texts you were never going to send.
• what would it take to walk past their old street without holding your breath.
• i don't want to forget them. i just want to stop being haunted. is there a difference.
• finish this: starting over sounds exhausting, but staying here sounds like
• what habit did you build around them that you're quietly letting die.
• you'll have to tell someone everything again one day. who do you want them to meet.
• when does their absence stop being a wound and start being just a fact.
• i moved their stuff into a box today. didn't cry. didn't feel good either. what is this.
• what would you do with the hours you used to spend keeping them happy.
• name something you want now that you wouldn't have let yourself want with them.
• the future used to have their face in it. what's there now when you squint.
• i don't want closure. i want to wake up one day and find it already closed. can i.
• finish this: i used to be theirs, and now i'm slowly becoming
• what is the smallest sign that you're healing that you almost didn't notice.
• you don't have to be over it to start walking. which direction faces away from them.
• when did you last make a plan that stretched past the part of your life that had them.
• i practiced their name in past tense today. it didn't break me. when did that happen.
• what would it take to believe the next chapter isn't just an apology for this one.