A few years ago, my world felt as if it had been shattered beyond repair. It wasn’t dramatic or loud; just a quiet, hollow moment. I lost someone dear to me. A person I had shaped myself around, someone whose presence had anchored me in ways I hadn’t even realized until they were gone. The grief wasn’t just sorrow, it was a kind of disorientation, like I’d lost my bearing. It was thick and unrelenting, yet so quiet. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, as though a piece of my soul had been misplaced, stolen away by time and circumstance. It wasn’t just the absence of them. It was the absence of me; the “me” I knew in connection to them. It felt like standing in a house where every window and door had been left open, and all the warmth had escaped. And I was left cold and alone, just me, myself and I. I would stand in the shower and cry, not just with sadness but with frustration at how trapped I felt in this endless loop of sorrow.

A few years ago, my world felt as if it had been shattered beyond repair. It wasn’t dramatic or loud; just a quiet, hollow moment. I lost someone dear to me. A person I had shaped myself around, someone whose presence had anchored me in ways I hadn’t even realized until they were gone. The grief wasn’t just sorrow, it was a kind of disorientation, like I’d lost my bearing. It was thick and unrelenting, yet so quiet. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, as though a piece of my soul had been misplaced, stolen away by time and circumstance. It wasn’t just the absence of them. It was the absence of me; the “me” I knew in connection to them. It felt like standing in a house where every window and door had been left open, and all the warmth had escaped. And I was left cold and alone, just me, myself and I. I would stand in the shower and cry, not just with sadness but with frustration at how trapped I felt in this endless loop of sorrow.

A few years ago, my world felt as if it had been shattered beyond repair. It wasn’t dramatic or loud; just a quiet, hollow moment. I lost someone dear to me. A person I had shaped myself around, someone whose presence had anchored me in ways I hadn’t even realized until they were gone. The grief wasn’t just sorrow, it was a kind of disorientation, like I’d lost my bearing. It was thick and unrelenting, yet so quiet. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, as though a piece of my soul had been misplaced, stolen away by time and circumstance. It wasn’t just the absence of them. It was the absence of me; the “me” I knew in connection to them. It felt like standing in a house where every window and door had been left open, and all the warmth had escaped. And I was left cold and alone, just me, myself and I. I would stand in the shower and cry, not just with sadness but with frustration at how trapped I felt in this endless loop of sorrow.