I often think about past feelings. They are like old photographs that you want to keep, but which you cannot touch. Sometimes they warm, sometimes they hurt, leaving a slight sadness on your fingertips. And then you stand in front of yourself and ask: "Am I ready again?" And the answer does not come right away. It hides somewhere between memories and hope, between fear and desire 💔✨.

It seems to me that with age you begin to understand a simple thing: love does not always come in the form of fireworks. It is quiet, almost imperceptible, but real. It manifests itself in small things: in shared silence, in a look that understands everything without words, in hands that are not afraid to be near 🌿. But until this happens, I stay with myself - with my doubts, fears, but also with small joys: coffee in the morning, a book in my hands, music that touches the heart.

And in this silence, I learn to be honest with myself. I learn to recognize my weaknesses and appreciate my strengths. I learn to see that loneliness is not a sentence, but a space where you can collect pieces of yourself in order to later share them with someone who will really see you 🌞💖.

Marie