All the Rooms Where You Stand Alone

There comes a time when you realise that life has always been quietly teaching you. Not in sudden revelations, but in the slow passing of days, in the way people enter and leave, in how time refuses to stop for anyone. It teaches you that happiness is not some distant finish line waiting at the end of a race. It is something softer, something fleeting, found in the gentlest of moments, the smell of salt on your skin after the sea, the quiet laughter you share without thinking, the weight lifted when someone says your name like it belongs.

And yet, for all its beauty, life has a way of reminding you that nothing stays. People arrive like seasons, warm and bright, and

you find yourself opening up, letting them see pieces of you that you do not even show yourself. You tell them your darkest fears, your hidden wounds, the secrets that once held you back from being gentle, from being open, from loving fully. And for a while, it feels like freedom. But then, as quietly as they came, they leave. Some drift slowly, others vanish all at once, but in the end, they leave, and with them, a part of you that you thought would be safe in their keeping.

It is a cruel truth, but also a necessary one. No one can stay forever. At the end of every day, when silence fills the room, when your laughter no longer echoes, you are left with yourself. The heart that carries every scar. The body that remembers every touch. The soul that still dares to dream, even when dreams feel too heavy to hold.

And maybe that is what life has been trying to tell you all along. That you are, in the end, on your own. But being on your own does not mean being incomplete. It does not mean loneliness will always follow you. It means you have within you the strength to create a home inside yourself. A place no departure can shatter, no silence can haunt.

Yes, happiness will come and go like the tide. Yes, people will too. But you, you remain. You are still here, still breathing, still becoming. And that is not something to grieve. It is something to hold with tenderness. Because when the world falls quiet, you will see it clearly.

You are on your own, kid.

You always have been.

But maybe that has always been enough.