We are given this strange and fleeting gift: to live in a world where everything breathes and breaks at once. We walk through seasons of laughter and shadow, through the rise and fall of days that do not ask for our permission. Life is never smooth, never truly predictable, it unfolds with sharp turns, sudden silences, and moments that leave us breathless. We move forward regardless, knowing that in the end, no matter how we cross this path, we scatter like powder mist on the other side, delicate, almost invisible, returning to something larger than ourselves.

Loss and grief seem endless when we stand inside them, but they are not eternal. They pass through us like storms, leaving scars, yes, but also clearing the sky for light again. To live is to be required to endure them, to let them carve their lessons into us. There is no shortcut, no secret passage that spares us. Some of us will grow numb, some will lose our very sense of self, while others will discover a new depth of gratitude for even the smallest things, a quiet morning, a kind word, the warmth of another hand. Still, whether we stumble or rise, the current of life continues to flow.

Life does not pause for us to heal, nor does it demand that we tie our wounds neatly. It does not ask us to be better. It only asks us to be present, to write it down when words ache to escape, to let experience soak into us until it becomes part of who we are. And then, when the weight is too much, to loosen our grip. To release. To let it go. Just once, just long enough to breathe and remember: we are here, for now, and that is enough.

Corina.