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Maybe there is no happy ending for us. Maybe there are only little stops along the way. Moments where the light hits just right, brief pockets of joy where we are allowed to breathe before life moves again. And we keep going. So take the chance. Be delusional. Fall in love even if your heart trembles. Let it break if it must, but love anyway. You’ll learn what feels like home and what doesn’t. And what you want, what you won’t beg for again. Be delusional about your own happiness. Let yourself believe you can try everything, no matter how it turns out. Be absolutely happy with little wins. Celebrate the mornings you get up when the world feels too much, the risks you took, the times you chose yourself without asking for permission. Live the story you want to remember. Be reckless with hope. Be loud with peace. Be soft without apology. Be strange. Be entirely yourself. We are not getting out of here alive anyway. Leave marks on people, on memories, on your own becoming. Love hard. Try again. Break. Heal. Begin again. Do not exit this life having only half felt it. At least these are the things I tell myself. I am not there yet… but I am on my way. M. | little stops February 2026

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Maybe it’s just me getting older, but I’ve started to realize that real love is simple. It’s someone asking, “Did you eat?” Someone texting, “I’ve reached work.” Someone who lets you rest when you’re overwhelmed, who doesn’t take it personally when you go quiet or slip into your moods. It’s doing separate things, yet still feeling connected in a way that doesn’t need constant reassurance. It’s being vulnerable, a little irrational, a little foolish, and still finding yourself held, not judged, not dismissed, just held. It’s feeling safe even after a bad fight, knowing the argument isn’t the end of you, but two imperfect people trying to understand each other better. Maybe love isn’t always fireworks and all-consuming passion. Perhaps sometimes it’s just someone choosing to stay, laughing at your little habits, and quietly holding space for you. And maybe love is just someone quietly caring for you, in all the little ways. M.| Haven February 2026

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There are days when memory brushes against me without warning. My phone beeped. A notification; my father had joined a messaging app. It wasn’t him, of course. Just his number, finally given to someone else after eleven years. I never deleted it. It stayed there, untouched, like a small door I wasn’t ready to close, an echo of a life I have carried with me everywhere. Seeing that notification felt strange, like the world moving forward without asking me first. Not dramatic, just quietly final. A simple system update, indifferent to the weight it carried, as the hours slipped ahead while I lingered in the spaces he left behind. Then, at lunch with a friend, I saw an older gentleman walking past our table. He moved exactly like my father. The same rhythm. The same familiar lean. I must have looked too long, because he noticed. He nodded at me and smiled, the familiar twinkle in his eyes catching me off guard. It made me miss him a little more. But for a moment, it felt as though the world was letting him pass by again. And perhaps, in its mysterious way, it reminds us that love, no matter how long or how far gone, is never truly lost. It finds its way back to us, just not always in the way we expect. M. | door February 2026

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"Live, as happy as you can." They say it like a blessing, like a rule, like something easily carried. As if happiness does not arrive unsure of itself, lingering only briefly like a small clearing between storms. And sometimes joy comes quietly, sits beside me without speaking, yet always leaves before I learn how to hold it. This is for the sadness in me, the part that learned to survive without promises, that loves deeply and pays for it quietly. The part that keeps going without believing, still choosing breath, still choosing morning, still choosing to stay. Perhaps this is my definition of love, for I do not abandon myself when I am heavy. And today, I offer flowers not to another heart, but to my own, to the feeling that stayed, the heart that has felt everything, yet still refuses to turn to stone. Live, as happy as you can. Even if happiness is small. Even if it is fleeting. Even if all you can manage is gentleness toward the ache that lives with you. These are the words I tell myself almost every morning. I’m still learning, and I will keep on learning until I don’t have to anymore. M. | February 2026

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Tonight feels like a void the world forgot to close, and I’m standing inside it, holding a feeling with no safe place to put it. M. | February 2026

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How about sad, but hopeful? How about lonely, but still showing up for yourself? How about anxious, but allowing a breath anyway? How about scared, but taking small steps? How about lost, but trusting the path ahead? M. | February 2026

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the world moves outside my window cars hum past, lights flicker in the distance I am still here, still heavy still holding the weight of yesterday as the wind whispers softly for a moment, pain is not all I feel the coffee sits untouched and I think of the small moments we shared they hover like sparks my chest tightens around them I am full of fragments that don’t fit and still I see the dreams you carry inside: of moonlight and constellations of us beneath the starry, unbroken sky of me, imperfect yet whole safe in the warm of your breath M. | Always February 2026

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