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Perhaps we need to find our way back to a time when the world was something we marvelled at, rather than something we had to learn to survive. I think about the children we once were, chasing clouds and butterflies, making friends over a shared toy, and coming home with muddy feet, dirty knees, and hearts full of happiness. We didn't know much about the world back then, but perhaps we knew something we've since forgotten. How to be kind without being asked. How to find joy in the simplest things. How to love the world without needing a reason to. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to us. We grew old enough to build things, conquer things, and destroy things, but somehow forgot how to take care of the things that were never ours to ruin. I think about the children in today's world, how they should still be making up games, laughing over little things, and collecting little reasons to be happy, and how far too many are already learning that the world can hurt. I wonder if growing up has something to do with it. How we learn to guard our hearts, build our walls, and carry our disappointments until we forget that the world can still be met with tenderness. I don't know how we begin to heal a world like this. Maybe we should begin with ourselves, with the kindness we choose, the suffering we refuse to dismiss, and the little ways we make life gentler for one another. And to remember that we are not powerless simply because we cannot change everything. We cannot undo all the hurt we've caused, but we can choose not to pass it on. Because what if healing the world means remembering how to love it before we learned all the ways to hurt it? M. | October 2026

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Why now? Why not when we were younger, happier, less corrupted by this world? Why do some people find each other only after life has left them with wounds they are still learning to live with, after they've learnt to be careful with the very thing they still long to give? I don't have the answer. Maybe we just need time to grow a little, hurt a little, and learn a little more before we can love each other right. And perhaps that's the strange thing about timing. We spend so much of our lives wondering why certain things didn't happen sooner, never knowing who we might have been if they had. Of all the people in the world, of all the different turns two lives could take, somehow, some paths cross. Two strangers become familiar. Two separate worlds find a little room for each other. I wonder how many versions of ourselves have existed just to arrive at the people we are when we meet. Maybe there's no equation that could explain why certain people find each other. Maybe we're just living, missing turns, taking chances, and finding each other in a world full of ways not to. But still, what are the odds? And how extraordinary that, somehow, we happen. M. | October 2026

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I sometimes wonder how many times we have walked past someone who would have changed our lives if we'd met on a different day. How many ‘almosts’ have passed us on the street, carrying their own little universes, never knowing how close they came to becoming part of ours, or how close we came to becoming part of theirs. And how happiness might have always been less of a destination than catching yourself humming while doing the dishes, or finding the afternoon sun falling across the floor just right. I don't know why I thought of any of these things. Maybe a mind is just a house with too many windows, and every now and then, the wind opens them all at once. Anyway, I should probably drink more water. P/S. I've been a little under the weather lately, which might explain why my thoughts have been taking unsupervised field trips. M. | October 2026

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I don't think I was prepared for how much it would mean to me to see the person who has spent so much of his life being strong become a little boy around me. And I don't think I will ever stop being moved by that. To know that someone can carry so much of the world on his shoulders and still find his way back to the child he once was, simply because he feels safe enough to. I used to think love meant finding someone to grow old with. Now, I think it also means finding someone who reminds you that growing up doesn't have to mean leaving the child inside you behind. And perhaps the most beautiful part is knowing that we get to be those people for each other. M. | October 2026

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Often, we spend the entire week trying to keep up with a life that seems to never slows down. Most of the time, we forget that we are a person, too, with a heart that gets tired and a mind that sometimes needs a little room to breathe. Then Friday arrives, and we find ourselves still running through tomorrow's worries instead of feeling relieved. We finally have a little time to breathe, only to realize how long it has been since we last did. I think there is a particular kind of sadness in spending so much of our lives keeping up with things that we begin to lose sight of the life we're trying to keep up for. We become so accustomed to getting through the days that we forget to ask ourselves whether we're enjoying any of them. We long for the simple pleasure of being somewhere without thinking about all the things waiting for us elsewhere. To be a person outside of everything we're expected to do. To exist without feeling as though we should be doing something more with our existence. Perhaps all we want is an evening that doesn't feel like a brief intermission before we have to begin again. And yet, here we are. We made it to Friday. The days keep passing, whether or not we find the time to feel them. So I hope, somewhere between Friday and the rest of our lives, we remember to live a little, too. M. | October 2026

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I don't need to have all the answers, at least not right now. I just want to remember us, the way we can hurt, then soften; lose our way, then somehow find each other again. I still want your hand in mine, your silence beside me, and that little moment when you softly say, “I love you,” and somehow the distance between us feels smaller. So when the sun is down, and the night gets heavy, I’d still choose us. Even with all the uncertainties and the hurting in my heart, I’d still find my way back to you, the same you I miss even when you’re close. M. | October 2026

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I wonder who remembers the small version of me. The little girl I was, before the world became complicated. I wonder if someone still remembers the way I used to run, the things I was afraid of, the stories I made up from my imaginations, the questions I asked without worrying whether they made sense. Maybe someone still remembers the little habits I have completely forgotten about. There must be a version of me living quietly in other people's memories. A little girl with scraped knees and untidy hair. A girl who could spend an entire afternoon with a book, who believed certain places would always feel familiar, who didn't yet know that people could leave and that some goodbyes would follow you long after they were spoken. I wonder if anyone remembers her. Maybe somewhere, in someone's memory, she is still there. Still laughing. Still reading. Still running after the birds, after the butterflies, after the moving clouds in the sky. And perhaps that is one of the ways life preserves itself. Not in photographs or names or the things we leave behind, but in the minds of people who remember a version of us that we can no longer reach ourselves. Somewhere, someone still remembers the small version of me. I hope she is happy there. M. | October 2026

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