Dear Diary: Gratitude

Dear Diary,

The summer night hums soft outside. Stars winking like old secrets, and my glass sweats ice-cold against my palm. Just us, Diary—no rush, no shadows. A sip of something tart and fizzy slides down, cooling the heat that's lingered too long.

Tonight, I count the quiet wins, the threads holding me steady. This job—it's no dream, grinding days that pay just enough to breathe—but it's mine, a roof and a rhythm, no more begging for scraps. I’m very nervous since I’m starting off on Monday, but… I’ll do my best.

And him, my King, he is still here with me once everyone has gone. Our relationship may be long distance, but no kilometres have separated us. I feel more accompanied with him than with any person surrounding me. He’s not perfect, but he’s real and he still feels warm against the chill I've known.

And the healing... oh, Diary, that's the spark. Wounds stitching slow, creativity uncoiling like smoke from a fresh-lit fire. Lines on digital canvas that sigh instead of scream, fantasies blooming playful and free. I'm here, alive in the glow.

My life now is so simple and sweet, despite its ups and downs. I’m no longer haunted by shadows. I’m just living my life.

The ice clinks one last time. Grateful, for now.

El Jaquio