The sirens haven’t stopped. Two days of rain now, on top of everything else. Schools are closed. People are living in shelters, waiting to know if it’s safe to go home. This isn’t the kind of thing you process from a distance. You feel it in your body, hours after the ground has already gone still.
And yet — we are alive. That alone is proof of something: that this, too, is part of the human experience. Nature doesn’t ask permission. It is powerful in a way that reminds you how small your plans are, and how little control you actually had to begin with. There’s no lesson to force onto that yet. Just the fact of it.
What comes next is harder to write, because I don’t have the answer. We need to get back to a life that will look different now — and I hope, better, though I can’t tell you how yet, or when. I only know that not-knowing isn’t a reason to stay still. We keep moving forward anyway, one ordinary decision at a time, before we’re sure of anything.
The sun will rise again tomorrow. That’s not a promise that things will be easy. It’s just true — and some days, true is enough to build on.
All roads still lead home, even the ones the earth just rearranged. And home, even shaken, is still where the love is. Roma es amor — today more than most days.
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