She stopped making love with ghosts. 
Yes, sometimes she still cries with everything but tears.
But now she knows, now she is the one writing the rules.
Turning past waters into future wines,
she learnt the need to celebrate the small victories
embracing the sins of moldy books not written with her as the main character.
She's not waiting for permission. 
She's waiting for herself.
Not standing on empty promises and fabricated hopes,
quick sands she learnt to walk past without looking back.
No nostalgia for what could have been,
she's shedding masks and false glitters
lousy copies of what she is.
Clear headed towards a higher degree of herself; authentic:
Facing forward with no bad faiths while
navigating wild wills and paying bills,
alone and quiet. 
Strong.