
There is a department that handles lost days. Not the bad ones. Not the good ones. Just the days that pass through

It’s strange how quickly—and slowly—a year passes. I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting, sorting through memories like old photographs, holding some tightly and letting others drift quietly away. A year ago, my mother passed away. It was one of those dreary, rainy days, gray and quiet—the kind where everything feels a bit heavier, colors…