I think there’s something beautiful about the fact that we can spend our entire lives knowing someone and still have so much left to discover about them. We’re constantly changing, growing, and becoming different versions of ourselves, and I don’t think we’re meant to understand every little part of another person. I’ve learned to be more careful with who I let into my world, not because I have anything to hide, but because some parts of me are simply too personal to share with everyone. And maybe that’s what makes being truly known so special. It’s not about someone knowing everything there is to know about you, but about having people in your life who genuinely care enough to keep learning.

There is a peculiar kind of grief in growing older and realizing that the life you imagined for yourself is not quite the one you’re living. At twenty-four, I am learning that becoming someone means leaving behind all the people I thought I would be.

On grief, growing older, and the quiet realization that losing someone means learning to live every version of your life without them.