My candle is dying. The number of endings that have occurred in this apartment has me questioning what it could all mean. To have control over what stays and what goes is new for me, and I think I enjoy it.

I saw family yesterday for brunch to celebrate the birthdays of two of my siblings. Then, before heading to the suburbs, my younger sister and I went to Jewel-Osco to pick up items for a charcuterie board I intended on making at my older sister's house. It was a hit, everyone loved the meats, cheese spreads, and care put into my presentation. During both events, I reflected with my family on how much has changed over the last year. It's all changed because I made it happen. That's so fucking validating thinking this. Nurturing the relationships with my brothers and sisters back to viable and now, some prosperous has been a beautiful and sometimes difficult journey. I appreciate them and love them so much more after all of this. I am grateful.

The candle is dead. I got it from the thrift store down the street. I would light it when doing work under different phases of the moon or illuminate my bathroom as I bathed or showered. Lately, I've been using it as I write in the mornings. Sometimes, I use it to focus on at night when unable to sleep. It works well; the soft glow always soothes my eyes away to sleep. I'm a little sad about it fading away while I'm writing this down now. I have others, but none that shine as bright as this one has for months now.

Change is good. Change is constant. I am constantly changing. I am good.

Three more days.