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I've always put brakes on myself. Perhaps it was the only way I knew how to protect my own heart. To move carefully. To hope cautiously. To stop myself before life had the chance to. And somewhere between protecting myself from disappointment and preparing for every possible ending, I forgot that some things are only found by moving forward. As June comes to an end, I find myself wondering how much of this month was spent surviving, and how much was spent living. Maybe July doesn't need a different version of me. Maybe it only asks that I loosen my grip a little. Trust a little more. And allow myself to step toward what I want without apologizing for wanting it. And perhaps courage doesn't always look like taking a leap. Sometimes it is simply taking your foot off the brake... and trusting that the road ahead isn't only waiting to hurt you. M. June 2026

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Perhaps the part of what's frightening me is not only the pain I'm feeling now. It's also the pain I'm not feeling. I keep looking at that wall and wondering what it's holding back. If this is how much I hurt with it still standing, what happens if it comes down? The thought follows me everywhere. It sits beside me at work. It waits for me in the quiet. It gnaws at whatever sanity I have left. But what if my mind is not storing all of this grief behind a dam waiting to burst? What if it is already doing what minds are designed to do? What if it is carrying the weight the same way a river carries rain. Not all at once, but as it comes. A little when I cried during my lunch break. A little when a song catches me off guard. A little when I am alone with my coffee and there is no one to distract me from myself. A little when a memory drifts across my mind without warning. Perhaps the wall is not hiding a flood. Perhaps it is simply teaching the water how to pass through me without drowning me. Not all at once. Just enough for today. M. June 2026

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I met my twenty-year-old self and said, "I can finally afford all the books you used to stand in the library holding for a little too long. The ones you memorized from the back covers because buying them was out of the question. The ones you promised yourself you would own someday." She smiled. Then she glanced at her phone. "Dad's waiting outside." In that moment, I felt the distance between her life and mine all at once. M. June 2026

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Father's Day always arrives carrying two versions of time. One tells me it has been eleven years. The other tells me it was only yesterday. I have lived entire chapters of my life without you. I have grown older. I have become someone you never got the chance to meet. There are stories I still wish I could tell you. Small things. Important things. Ordinary things that somehow matter because they happened to me. And every Father's Day, I find myself reaching across a distance that cannot be crossed. I wonder what you would think of the person I am now. I wonder if you would be proud. I hope you would be. I hope you would see how hard I have tried. How I kept going on days when I wanted to stop. How I carried the lessons you left behind, even when I was afraid that I might forget the sound of your voice. The truth is, I still miss you. Not only in the big moments. Not only in the milestones. I miss you in the quiet parts of life. When something good happens and I wish I could tell you. When something hurts and I wish I could hear you say my name. When I see fathers and daughters together and feel that familiar ache return. Eleven years later, love has not disappeared. It has simply changed shape. It lives now in memories. In photographs. In stories. In the person I became because you were once here. And today, more than anything, I hope you knew how much you were loved. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you still. And I think I always will. M. 21 June 2026

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Father's Day always arrives carrying two versions of time. One tells me it has been eleven years. The other tells me it was only yesterday. I have lived entire chapters of my life without you. I have grown older. I have become someone you never got the chance to meet. There are stories I still wish I could tell you. Small things. Important things. Ordinary things that somehow matter because they happened to me. And every Father's Day, I find myself reaching across a distance that cannot be crossed. I wonder what you would think of the person I am now. I wonder if you would be proud. I hope you would be. I hope you would see how hard I have tried. How I kept going on days when I wanted to stop. How I carried the lessons you left behind, even when I was afraid, I might forget the sound of your voice. The truth is, I still miss you. Not only in the big moments. Not only in the milestones. I miss you in the quiet parts of life. When something good happens and I wish I could tell you. When something hurts and I wish I could hear you say my name. When I see fathers and daughters together and feel that familiar ache return. Eleven years later, love has not disappeared. It has simply changed shape. It lives now in memories. In photographs. In stories. In the person I became because you were once here. And today, more than anything, I hope you knew how much you were loved. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you still. And I think I always will. M. 21 June 2026

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"Are you okay?" I'm not sure. I haven't had time to think about it. I have a mother with a weak heart who needs to see that I'm getting better. A job that expects me to show up. An entire household whose peace of mind I have somehow become responsible for. So I keep moving. There is always something that needs carrying. A bill to pay. A message to answer. A worry that belongs to someone else and somehow finds its way into my hands. By the time the day is over, I am too tired to examine my own heart. And maybe that is the problem. Maybe I have become so occupied with surviving that I no longer know how to ask myself what I need. Sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet and no one is looking for reassurance, I catch a glimpse of the question again. “Are you okay?” The truth is, I don't know. I have spent so long convincing everyone else that I am, I no longer remember the difference between surviving and being okay. M. June 2026

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Hey, have you eaten? Eat something, please. Pretending to be okay takes energy too. I know how easy it is to convince yourself that you are fine, to carry everything quietly, to smile when people ask how you are doing. But even the strongest hearts grow tired from holding too much for too long. So eat something. Drink some water. Rest, if you can. And I hope you know that you do not have to pretend with those who care for you. You do not have to make your sadness smaller. I suppose I needed this reminder as much as anyone. Perhaps that is why I wrote it down. So I would have something gentle to return to on the days I forget. M. June 2026

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