I don’t know how to sit here and write today. This writing series seems so insignificant compared to my reality. It feels like all I can write about is pain.
I hate this. I hate this moment in time. This season.
I know there is a way out, and light at the end of the tunnel will appear. But it feels like the longest journey to a destination I have no concept of.
Maybe there’s value in documenting the darkness too. In acknowledging that some days, the words themselves are weighted with grief. That sometimes, showing up to the page is its own kind of courage.
I can’t see the path forward clearly. But I’m here, still writing, still breathing. And perhaps that’s all that needs to be said today.
