The day started with a sudden rush — a voice urging to hurry, a routine of tea, essence, and quiet preparation. Emotions stirred early, and the world already felt a little heavy.
At work, someone special said goodbye. There were photos, laughter, soft goodbyes. But also tasks and missed moments, as duties pulled me away. I managed to return for the photo, but not without feeling a little unseen.
There were difficult encounters. A colleague reminded me of the rules. Another kept a distance. Harsh words stung. Laughter came at my expense. Even the kind gestures I made were met with silence or discomfort. A part of me began to wonder if closeness is something I misunderstood again.
Later in the day, there were more moments — accidental touches, long bus rides, unexpected scoldings. One shared a heavy story, and another voiced anger too deep to understand. It felt like walking through a storm of emotions — not all mine, but somehow still weighing on me.
But someone listened. Really listened. With calm and clarity, they asked questions. Helped me sort through the hurt. Reminded me to notice the good — the quiet recognition, the kind feedback, the potential waiting on a stage in September.
At the end of it all, I came home. Sat quietly. My “I’m okay” was questioned again. Maybe I say it too quickly. Maybe I don’t know if I am. But I’m still here. And that has to count for something.
Tomorrow, there’s a new place to see. A short escape, perhaps. I’ll bring my heart along. Gently.
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