The morning after the storm doesn’t save us—it exposes us. In its merciless light, there are no shadows to hide in, only a demand to move forward. Ordinary objects turn into relics of memory, silence becomes a mirror, and every step carries both fear and courage. For the first time, I allowed myself not peace or clarity, but something quieter: permission. Permission to exist in this fractured state, to begin again, even without a map.