I started writing because I was afraid of how easily thoughts would disappear. Not the important—but the small ones. How light shifts when I leave a room. The sound of a page turning in the night.
Small observations. They don’t ask to be understood. Only to be recorded and maybe read, slowly.
— Lucía M.
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≻: I don’t know what I’m doing.
Today has been a soul-wrenching day. You have told me that you’re gone. Not to your parents’ for Sunday dinner, not for grocery time with…
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≻: Hello World!
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