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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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The first day of October, and somehow, I find myself in a place I never thought I would have to return to. The cold voice in my mind keeps asking, “Why am I still here? Why do I keep trying so hard when I am already so tired?” Some days, giving up can sound deceptively simple. No more fighting through another painful day. No more waking up and having to convince yourself to keep going. No more asking yourself how much longer you can carry what you have been carrying. And still, I am here. Still trying. I wish I could say I always know why. I don’t. Sometimes, I keep going because there are still things I love. People I love. Small pieces of life that I am not ready to leave behind. Sometimes, I keep going simply because I have made it this far, and some part of me still believes there must be something waiting for me on the other side of this. Maybe that is what trying really is. Not knowing how everything will turn out, but refusing to let one difficult chapter decide the ending for you. So I will try again tomorrow. And then, if I have to, the day after that. M. | 1st October 2026

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“Hey, can I get back to you later? I’m in the middle of trying to keep myself together.” Often, you wish you could say that to people. Tell them the truth, so they might understand what it is like sometimes inside your head. And yet, some days, your mind opens the door to its own ghosts, and suddenly there is no room left inside you for anything else, no explanation you could offer. So you retreat, slowly disappearing from the world, finding your way back to the familiar darkness that was once your hiding place. You thought you had left it behind, believing you had finally found your way out. Only to find yourself standing at its door, once more. And you think to yourself, “One of these days, the ghosts will get tired too.” M. | September 2026

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