But the words caught in my throat, and the moment passed. I watched him walk away, disappearing down the street.
That night, while I ate alone at the kitchen table, I thought about how easy it was to judge.
The world was full of stories, each person carrying their own burdens. And here I was, assuming I knew his.
I realized then that I needed to open my eyes, to see beyond my own small world.
The meal, though simple, was a comfort—a reminder that change could bring unexpected connections.
As I cleared the table, I felt a shift within myself, a small step towards mending my own collapse.
Maybe there was hope for me yet, and maybe, just maybe, for the world too.
