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I love you in a way that could only ever be yours. I used to love so intensely before you. So intense that it felt as though every rib inside me was being torn apart. I used to think that was what loving someone deeply meant - to give so much of yourself that there would hardly be anything left when it was over. But I understand now that you can never love two people in exactly the same way. You love each person in a way that belongs only to them. A love that could never be repeated, because it was always meant for that one person. So I'll say it again. I love you in a way that could only ever be yours. I don't love you intensely. I don't think I have that kind of love left in me. I've given it to someone before. I loved them so intensely that I was willing to be ruined for them, to destroy the world for them, even to perish for them. But with you, I love in a way that makes me want to rebuild the world. For you, and with you. I want to love, to live, to heal, and to become better. I want to make a life in which there is room for both of us to grow, to make mistakes, to find our way, and to keep choosing each other. And I can tell you, this is a thousand times harder than dying for love. Because this time, I have to live. I have to try. I have to fight every day. I have to find the strength to be here, to be better, to stay just another day. And perhaps this is how I love you. Not by giving you what remains of a life I was willing to throw away, but by trying, every day, to build a life I want to stay for. M. | October 2026

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There were days when I thought I was doing better, and days when I wondered if I had made any progress at all. Days when I could go about my life as usual, and days when even the smallest things felt heavier than they should. October showed me that I can be struggling and still have things to be grateful for. I can be carrying sadness and still find reasons to smile. I can love someone deeply, look forward to little things, make plans, write about beautiful moments, and still have days when I don't quite know what to do with myself. Perhaps these things do not cancel one another out. For sometimes, life holds more than one truth at a time. I tried on the days when I had the energy to believe things could get better. I tried on the days when that belief felt impossibly far away. I tried even when I had no faith in the future, only the faint hope to see what tomorrow might bring. October is leaving again. And I cannot say that I am any better, happier, or stronger than I was when it arrived. But I am leaving it having tried. M. | October 2026

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Today wasn't a very kind day to me. I had more feelings than I knew what to do with, and by the end of the day, I don't even know how to be close to myself again. I wish I knew how to make room for all the things I feel without letting them take up so much space inside of my head. I wish I knew how to feel everything without feeling as though I'm slowly losing my grip on myself. And I'm back to the same question. When does it become bearable? M. | October 2026

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I met my eight-year-old self today, and she asked me, “Why do you talk to yourself like that?” “Like what?” “Like you don't like yourself very much.” It struck me how easily we forgive others for being human. We make room for their mistakes, their bad days, their moments of weakness. We remind them that nobody gets everything right, that they are allowed to be tired, that one bad decision doesn't make them a bad person. Yet somehow, when it comes to ourselves, the rules change. We turn our mistakes into evidence against our character. We call ourselves foolish for not knowing better, weak for struggling, and lazy for needing rest. We hold on to old embarrassments and past mistakes long after we'd have forgiven someone else for theirs. We become both the person on trial and the one who refuses to grant a pardon. My eight-year-old self was still waiting for an answer. I wondered what I would say if she were the one making all those mistakes. Would I call her stupid? Would I tell her she should have known better? Would I make her feel she had to become someone else before she deserved a little kindness? Of course not. Perhaps being kinder to ourselves begins with learning to offer ourselves the same understanding we give so freely to others. After all, we're the ones who have to live with ourselves through it all. M. | October 2026

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I wonder if guideposts ever get lonely, standing at the edge of the same roads, day after day, watching everyone pass them by. Perhaps they don't. Perhaps all they need is to know that somewhere, someone is finding their way because they are there. I think about this sometimes, about how we can spend so much of our lives trying to find our way through the world, never knowing that one day, someone might come along and make the journey feel a little less lonely. And perhaps that is what we have become for each other. Not the destination, not the answer to every question, but a little light along the way. I will keep a little warmth for the days the world grows cold around you. And when the noise inside me gets too loud, I know where to find my stillness. Funny, isn't it? How two people can be so far apart and still become part of how the other finds their way home. M. | 20 October 2026 p/s: Happy birthday, dear muse. I hope this next trip around the sun is kind to you.

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When I was little, I thought being an adult meant you'd eventually understand everything. That one day, you'd wake up knowing what to do with your life. I thought grown-ups had answers. That they knew where they were going, who they were supposed to be, and how to stop being afraid of things they couldn't control. Nobody told me that the years would pass without necessarily bringing the answers with them. That you could make a decision with all the love in your heart and still spend years wondering if you got it wrong. I thought that by now, I'd know how to make peace with the past. Instead, I've learned that some questions grow older with you. Maybe that's all adulthood is. Realising that the people you once thought had everything figured out were probably just doing their best, too. Making choices with what little they knew, carrying things they never spoke about, hoping tomorrow would make a little more sense than today. Every now and then, I wish I could sit beside the little girl I used to be and tell her that I tried. I'd tell her that I still don't have all the answers. And I think she'd be a little disappointed. Because she thought that by the time we grew up, we'd know. Still, if I could tell her one more thing, I'd tell her that it's alright. We're getting a little better at finding our way through. M. | October 2026

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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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