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And slowly, in the smallest moments, we learn how to carry on. M. | August 2025

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And slowly, in the smallest moments, we learn how to carry on. M. | August 2025

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This part carries a truth I tried not to see, in the world of this story. If you’ve ever loved in borrowed time, maybe you’ll understand. Read if your heart feels like it, skip if it doesn’t. Thank you for keeping me company in these words. ******************************* Part 5 There was once a world where sunsets last a little longer, a world that we have both left behind, a world that was born from our collided souls. /// Our days passed among the flowers and the trees; in the quiet world we had made for ourselves. I remembered the incident on the bench, the other presence beside him, but I let it settle in the background, a shadow I refused to name. We moved quietly through our world, letting mornings stretch with the soft hum of the stream and the gentle sway of the white flowers. Afternoons carried the warmth of sunlight brushing through the trees, and the wind teased its fingers through our hair as we wandered among petals and roots. Evenings were golden, delicate, and almost sacred, filled with laughter and small touches that made the world feel tender and alive. He would sometimes pause, his eyes lingering on me as though trying to memorize every line of my face, every curl of hair, every subtle gesture. I returned the gaze with equal care, holding close the fleeting moments, pretending the past had no claim on the present. In the garden, there were no walls to hide secrets, but I carried mine like a leaf folded in my hand. I let the memory of what I had seen remain tucked at the edge of my mind, pretending that the laughter and the gentle brushing of our fingers through the petals were ours entirely to keep. Evenings came with a softness that we clung to, silent or speaking, laughing or just breathing together. Almost normal. Almost happy. And in those days, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps the garden could hold us like this forever. The mornings began with the usual light spilling across the garden, but one morning, he was not there. The white flowers swayed faintly as if noticing my pause, the wind teasing through the trees, but he did not come. I returned again the next day, lingering by the stream, tracing the paths we had walked a thousand times, but he was nowhere. The garden held its silence, patient and unyielding, and slowly a cold weight began to settle in my chest. I kept returning for days, each time hoping he would appear from between the trees, smiling that soft, familiar smile. The garden waited, but he did not return. And then it struck me with a quiet certainty that left my hands trembling: he was really gone. Something drew me toward the mansion at last, a force I could not name. The air was still, and the door opened without resistance. Inside, the gallery awaited me, silent and expectant. Walls lined with paintings and photographs captured moments that had always felt ours, yet now revealed a truth I could not have imagined. Among them were newer paintings, ones that made my chest constrict with a strange, aching recognition. A pair bound in wedding colors. The truth settled in the quiet corners of the mansion. His fate had never been his alone. Our borrowed days in the garden had been a fleeting reprieve, a fragile happiness against the tide of inevitability. I stepped back into the garden, the flowers bending as if to watch me, the stream murmuring softly. The air pressed against me, heavy with remembrance and absence. Somewhere deep inside, I understood that nothing, not even love, could change what was already written. And so I remained in the garden, tracing the paths we had walked, listening to the wind and the faint whispers of petals, knowing that our time together had ended, yet feeling somewhere beyond sight and sound that his story and mine was far from over. End of Part 5 ©️M. | August 2025 Part 4 https://ift.tt/FG2dCAm

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The night settles slowly, wrapping the world in a stillness that feels almost endless, the sky vast enough to swallow every thought I’ve tried to set aside. In this stillness, I feel both small and infinite, caught between the weight of what has been and the fragile hope of what might come. And the night goes on, carrying me with it. M. | August 2025

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Finally, the week loosens its grip. I sit here with the quiet, soft light spilling in, a little tired, a little tender, but grateful to still find beauty in these small, slow hours. The days felt heavy, the hours endless, yet somehow I made it here, to the weekend, to this stillness, a peace that only comes after surviving the noise.

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Not all broken things are meant to be fixed. Some griefs are stitched into you so tightly that you learn to live around them, carrying their shape as part of who you are. You learn to walk again. You smile again. When you look around, you do not see miracles. You see a collection of small mercies instead. Moments so ordinary they almost go unnoticed. A kind word. A steady hand. A breath you did not know you were holding. And I know this, because I gather them too. I hold them in my hands like pebbles, and each one whispers the same thing - “This saved me a little.” And maybe that is enough for now. To be kept by something small. To breathe because of a moment. To simply be here. M. | August 2025

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I’ve been away from this page for days again. It's not that I care less, but I was stuck in the endless loop of the corporate world. Yet, in the minutes that I could steal, I scribbled in my note book, small attempts to find a little respite and hold on to the fragments of sanity I have left. Some days just born to be impossible. No matter how early you rise, how much effort you pour in, or how badly you want things to go right, some days will resist you. Still, again and again I tell these to myself - I'm allowed to be tired. I'm allowed to not have it all figured out. I'm allowed to stop, to breathe, to rest and to begin again. So, please bear with this small, wobbly cloud of tangled thoughts, rolling gently along in search of a little sunshine. 🥹 <3 M. | August 2025

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I’ve been away from this page for days again. It's not that I care less, but I was stuck in the endless loop of the corporate world. Yet, in the minutes that I could steal, I scribbled in my note book, small attempts to find a little respite and hold on to the fragments of sanity I have left. Some days just born to be impossible. No matter how early you rise, how much effort you pour in, or how badly you want things to go right, some days will resist you. Still, again and again I tell these to myself - I'm allowed to be tired. I'm allowed to not have it all figured out. I'm allowed to stop, to breathe, to rest and to begin again. So, please bear with this small, wobbly cloud of tangled thoughts, rolling gently along in search of a little sunshine. 🥹 <3 M. | August 2025

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I’ve made it this far. Not gracefully, not without scars, but I’m here. And maybe for now, that’s enough. The days behind me have been heavy. I’m tired of trying to make sense of them, or give them meaning they might not have. I don’t need redemption. Just a little space to breathe. So if you’re staying, dear August, please stay gently. I’m not asking for everything to make sense. Just the chance to feel like myself again, even if it takes time. Even if it’s slow. M. | August 2025

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