Sometimes the universe answers not with clarity, but with stillness. You keep waiting for signs, for directions, for closure, and instead, you get breath. You get morning light on tired eyes, the small reminder that surviving itself is sacred work. That you are, somehow, still becoming.
Sometimes the universe answers not with clarity, but with stillness. You keep waiting for signs, for directions, for closure, and instead, you get breath. You get morning light on tired eyes, the small reminder that surviving itself is sacred work. That you are, somehow, still becoming.
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