We can't remember when our old life ended.

We try to pin it down, but the days blur.

The moments smudge into oblivion.

There's a before and an after, but the middle…

the part that really changed us – is lost in fog.

We go on, because we have to.

Eat something.

Sleep if we can. Talk if we feel like it.

Pretend maybe it's all the same, though we know it's not.

Time stretches, bends, and we can't tell where the "before" stopped and the "after" began.

We remember feelings more than facts. The safety, the lightness, the version of us that didn't carry this weight.

The version of us that did not wake up wondering if life would ever feel whole again.

Maybe our old life didn't end in a single moment.

Maybe it left slowly, quietly, in pieces we didn't even notice.

And maybe forgetting that we are residing in a smudged. , foggy blur… perhaps is how we survive. We soften the edges so we can keep going, even when everything hurts.

We are fragile.

That's what makes us human.

We are not machines.

We carry loss in messy, jagged ways.

Even if we can't remember exactly when everything changed, we are still here.

For some reason.

Still breathing.

Still human.

Still learning to live after what was lost.

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