This is not a story of triumph. It is a reckoning. A slow, deliberate inventory of what can be carried forward and what must be set down. It does not seek resolution, only presence. In silence, in solitude, in the weight of the unsaid, a new grammar of being emergeslean, precise, and faithful to the contours of rupture.
Here begins the arithmetic of loss. Not to count what is gone, but to honor what endures.
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