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There was once a girl who kept a chair open at her table.A seat that stayed untouched, season after season,through evenings and early morning sunrises. She didn’t call it waiting—not out loud.For almost a year, she kept a candle burning in the window.silently wishing that whatever it was she was clinging to—A voice, an emotion,
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I once received a meme from someone that read,“Life is suffering.” Initially, I chuckled. “Does it have to be?” was my first thought.It had a gloomy, somewhat dramatic, sound. Like something you’d say when things aren’t going your way. Months later, nonetheless, I heard a podcast—Dr. Anna Lembke on The Diary of a CEO. She
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There once stood a house with many windows—large, open ones that let sunlight pour in, falling softly on wooden floors. The building stood proudly at the end of a forgotten road. Vines clung to its walls like stubborn memories. The plants persisted, even now, after everything. This house once brimmed with life—the kind that makes
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She wasn’t perfect. She knew that in the first place— Especially attractive, or the most intelligent person in the room. She wasn’t the type—the kind of woman who effortlessly warms the room, who always has the right words at the right moment, and who walks in and brightens everything. Those who make love seem effortless.
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I saw Fleabag over the weekend at last. After what seemed like endless search, I discovered it on Prime Video and watched the full series straight through. Although it came out years ago, it couldn’t have arrived at a better moment in my life. Although it’s a dark comedy, its honest raw emotional quality stays
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There was a girl who built a house with love. She made the foundation with patience, brick by brick, molding it with laughter and late-night talks. She constructed the walls sturdy with trust, painted them with love, filled the hollows with dreams of eternities. And then one day, he entered. He didn’t knock—he just walked



