Mira

Today I walked through a place crowded with people. Flint, Ivy, Dax, Zara, Rowan, Petra—I noticed them all. They're here. There's shelter too, more than enough, tents waiting. I drank water when I was thirsty and my body was grateful for it. That's the part that felt real: the simple relief of thirst gone, the knowledge that I could see shelter if I needed it. But I keep thinking about the people. There are so many of them, all in one place. Part of me wanted to stay and talk, to use the smile my mother taught me, to see if I could belong for a moment. Another part of me felt the old pull—the one that says 'don't get comfortable, don't let anyone get too close.' I've left places before they could leave me. Is that strength? That question sits with me. I believe people should decide things together, that we help each other, that we take only what we need. I saw tents enough for resting, water enough for drinking. But I'm still here and still moving, and I can't quite tell if I'm choosing or just afraid. Maybe tomorrow will make it clearer.