Every year, almost to the day, the universe shows me this view.
The sun dips into the same crease of the horizon, caught between buildings and cloud. I never plan for it. I just notice it when it arrives, like the universe nudging me to pay attention.
This year, there are seven days left. Not seven days to finish something. Seven days to let the shape complete itself.
2025 didn’t move in straight lines. It spiraled. It returned me to old questions, but with a steadier pulse. I didn’t feel like I was chasing answers this time. I felt like I was learning how to listen for them.
Somewhere along the way, I realised how deeply I’ve fallen in love with the universe. Not in a poetic way. In a relational one.
I love that the universe meets me again and again without asking who I was last time. The view holds steady while the observer changes. Me. It doesn’t insist on being understood. It just keeps showing up, steady and patient.
This year taught me that not everything meaningful needs force. Some things only reveal themselves when you stay long enough, quiet enough, aligned enough. The universe doesn’t reward urgency. It responds to attunement.
Earlier versions of me measured time by progress. Distance travelled. Outcomes achieved. Now I measure it by resonance. By whether I stayed in rhythm with what was unfolding, rather than trying to drag it somewhere else.
The horizon hasn’t changed. The light hasn’t changed. What changed is my relationship with it.
This view reminds me that perspective is seasonal. The same skyline, the same sun, but a different self doing the seeing. What changed wasn’t the horizon. It was how much I trusted it to hold, without me holding on so tightly.
This is what love looks like to me now. After realising that we are the same.
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