and writing...

I noticed something simple and yet profound. I am okay. Truly okay.

Life has found a quiet point inside me that I did not even know I was searching for. And it is strange how this calm did not come from distance, it came from understanding. It is as if I can finally feel everything with more clarity without losing myself.

So I write.

Therapy has been guiding me back to who I am, my fears, my patterns, the ways I tried to protect myself, and the ways I hurt myself without meaning to. I'm learning to heal, piece by piece, and to accept that growth does not erase love; it makes it more honest. Every session teaches me to feel without running away, to listen to my heart without fear and to hold it gently.

So I write.

And writing I think of you with a soft affection. Nothing heavy. Nothing demanding.

Just a quiet tenderness that sits beside me even when you stay silent.

I like knowing you exist in the world. That alone is enough.

If one day you choose to come back here, the door is open without pressure. There is no clock; no expectation; no weight. There is space. You can arrive slowly, watch from afar, or remain silent for as long as you need. My movement now is simple; I feel, I allow, I breathe.

You can come at your own pace, in your own time, lightly.

So I write.

I write because even in stillness, you are present.

And if someday our paths meet again, it will be because you chose it. And that will be enough.

So I write.
I write because I want you to know that I'm learning to hold my heart with patience.

And in that patience, there is a place that remains yours.

Always.

Your thunder.