We are born as a blank page.
Without folds, without pressure, without stories.

Then life begins.
It touches us through people, moments, losses, and accidents.
We change shape, we bend, we get crushed, sometimes we break.
And at some point, it becomes hard to recognize who we once were.

But that is the paradox.
We never lose ourselves completely.

Even in a crumpled state, there is a memory within us
of our original form.
Of simplicity. Of clarity. Of who we truly are.

And the greatest beauty is this
we can unfold again.
Not to become who we were before,
but to become more honest, deeper, more alive.

We are not damaged material.
We are a process.

And every fold is not an ending
but another attempt to become ourselves.

RTW, 19/03/26