7th May 2025,

Last night, I sat on my moonlit balcony — journal in hand, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only late hours bring. The world had finally hushed, and above the rooftops and restless thoughts, the moon rose slowly like it had something to tell me.

Its light spilled softly across the railing, brushing against my feet like a whisper. I watched it, still and glowing, and for a moment, it felt like it saw everything I couldn't say out loud. There was comfort in its silence — a kind of knowing. The kind that doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t offer advice, just stays with you.

As I scribbled into my journal, I found myself writing not what I thought, but what I felt. The moon seemed to pull it out of me — the things I had tucked away during the noise of the day. Sadness. Hope. Longing. Calm. All of it, pouring out like tides pulled by her gravity.

And in that quiet moment, I understood something: not every kind of healing needs words or answers. Sometimes, it just needs a little moonlight and a place to breathe.