I carry the people I’ve loved like small constellations under my skin, some still burning, some already gone dark, yet all of them shaping how I walk through night.

There are mornings when grief doesn’t knock. It simply sits beside me, drinks my coffee, and reminds me that love was never meant to be light.

I have learned that the heart is not a place of safety. It is a place of weather. Storms arrive without permission, and sometimes the bravest thing is to stand still and let the storms pass through you.

If you listen closely, you can hear the past breathing in old songs, in the way certain names still soften your voice, in the silence that follows when you almost say I miss you out loud.

But even here, especially here, there is a quiet miracle happening.

Because every day you wake up with tenderness intact. You choose not to turn to stone. You keep your hands open in a world that has proven it can take everything.

And that, that is not weakness. That is devotion to being human all the way through.

There is a quiet revolution blooming—not in the streets, but in the mirror. It whispers you are enough before the world has a chance to argue.

Body positivity is not just a movement; it is a soft rebellion. It is choosing to love the curves, the scars, and the stretch of skin that tells our stories in invisible ink. It is reminding ourselves that worth has never been defined by a number, a filter, or someone else’s gaze.

There is poetry in every body. In the way a belly rises with breath. In the sway of hips that move like rivers shaping stone. In freckles that scatter across skin like constellations. Our bodies are not here to be hidden or diminished. They are here to live, to feel, to take up space—gracefully, loudly, unapologetically.

So wear the crop top. Dance without shrinking. Smile with your whole face, flaws, and all. This body has carried you through storms and sunrises, through heartbreaks and healings. It is the archive of every laugh, every tear, every step that brought you here. To honor your body is to honor your life.

And maybe the greatest act of love we can offer ourselves is not to be perfect, but to accept—to stand in the truth that we have always been enough.

time is a paradox
it feels both endless and fleeting 
a measure we rely on 
to structure our lives 
yet it slips away the moment 
we try to grasp it
it’s only when we look back 
that we see how little control 
we truly have over it
how moments stretch into years
and years collapse into seconds 
time it seems 
is less about counting the ticks
and more about how we choose 
to live between them