A year looks tidy on paper. January to December. One clean line. My 2025 did not move like that. It came in scenes, small ones. A notification. A quote that sat heavy in my chest. A long walk that made everything quiet enough for me to hear myself again. A graduation photo that looked familiar and still felt strange. If I had to name the thread that ran through my posts from January to December 25, it would be this: I kept circling the same question. How do you keep living honestly when you’re carrying loss, memory, and time?