Written by, Aurelie E.
There are moments
that split time in two—
before this
and everything after.
Loss that knocks the wind out of a life.
Grief that teaches the body
new postures of survival.
Love that arrives like a hand on your back
when you didn’t know you were bending.
Joy so clean, it feels borrowed.
Kindness that saves you quietly
and never asks to be remembered.
Anguish came too—
uninvited, undeniable.
It rearranged my days,
altered the map,
forced detours I would never have chosen.
It taught me caution,
and depth,
and how to sit with things
that do not resolve.
But it did not take my core.
I am still the one
who leans toward tenderness.
Still the one
who notices beauty in small, stubborn places.
Still the one
who chooses honesty over numbness,
presence over escape,
love even when it costs.
The course of my life changed—
yes.
The shape of my days,
the weight of my knowing,
the language of my heart.
But not the center.
That part remained—
quiet, intact,
waiting patiently
beneath every storm.
I am altered.
I am not erased.
I am shaped by what I’ve survived,
and still unmistakably
myself.
