There are moments, like this one, where everything feels distilled into a kind of perfect harmony — colors that taste sweet, air that smells of salt and sun, a softness in the light that makes the heart go still. Summer, in its fullness, speaks without speaking.
But even as I sit in the center of this abundance — this ease, this beauty — I’m aware. Of how fragile it all is. Of how unevenly the world gives and takes.
Peace, here, feels like something in the soil. A birthright I didn’t earn. And that knowing — that quiet edge behind the sweetness — doesn’t go away. It shouldn’t.
The sea is wide, but freedom doesn’t reach every horizon.
Maybe that’s why beauty feels so tender now — why I hold it gently, with both hands, knowing it’s not mine alone. To witness, to live this, is not something I take lightly.
What a thing it is to stand in the sun and feel the ache of distant shadows. To carry both — the warmth and the weight — is, perhaps, its own kind of prayer.
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