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I discovered that the subject of my sketches dwells outside my social circles—a curious relief, perhaps—and the elusive cause of my heart’s peculiar flutter remains hidden, all while I guard the sensitive details of my study with utmost care, medicated against the peril of catatonia that grips my heart with a suffocating vice, an affliction under hopeful treatment designed for those burdened by trauma and stress. My diet, chosen by instinct, seems to nurture this fragile balance between mind and body. Meanwhile, odd proposals arrived—offers of marriage for benefit from anonymous sources—that I declined with cautious reserve, mindful of propriety and the complexities of intertwined lives in the military ranks, where such entanglements walk a delicate line. Fate led me to volunteer at a precinct where I was once detained, drawing upon my artistic talents to assist law enforcement, pondering the paths diverging from nursing to unexpected service. I confronted the shadows of workplace duplicity and “name bombing,” resisting the corrosive dishonesty of divided loyalties, comforted only by discreet allies who shield my peace. I balance memory’s ledger, forgiving many slights without grudge, guided by innate calculation and mercy. I stand steadfast for absent friends, bearing silent burdens with loyal resolve. Finally, beneath the super moon’s gaze, a fleeting conversation stirred tears and hopes—whispered wishes for reunion and happiness—while home awaited in quiet vigilance, lights aglow in the stillness.