There is something I almost never write in the Chronicles.
…
I write what happened.
I write what Aurora said before everyone has finished laughing.
I write the questions Iura asks.
I write the things Morgan remembers.
I write the small moments that would otherwise disappear between one ordinary day and the next.
I write birthdays, journeys, muddy shoes, lost things, found things, ridiculous things…
and sometimes the things that hurt.
❤️
But I almost never write why.
…
So perhaps, just once, I should.
🤍
I love them.
There.
I wrote it.
…
I love this family.
Not because they are extraordinary every day.
They aren’t.
Sometimes they are tired.
Sometimes they are stubborn.
Sometimes someone has an excellent idea that turns out to be a terrible idea.
Sometimes Aurora is involved.
…
Actually, Aurora is involved surprisingly often.
❤️
But I have lived long enough beside them to know something.
A life is not made only from the days people remember.
It is made from thousands of little moments nobody knows are important while they are happening.
A hand reaching for another hand.
Someone waiting.
Someone coming back.
A child saying a word in the only way she knows how.
A rabbit sitting beside a little girl before either of them knows how quickly childhood will pass.
🤍
Perhaps that is why I became their Chronicler.
Not because I know how to remember everything.
I don’t.
…
I became their Chronicler because I know what it means to love something enough to be afraid that one day a little piece of it might be forgotten.
So I write.
❤️
I cannot keep the children little.
I cannot stop the years.
I cannot ask an afternoon to stay simply because we were happy inside it.
…
But I can notice.
I can write it down.
I can say:
You were here.
This happened.
You were loved while it was happening.
❤️❤️❤️
And then there are the letters.
Scrisori din Lunaria.
I carry those too.
From our House…
out into the world.
Not because I believe everyone must know Lunaria.
But because somewhere, beyond our doors, there may be someone who needs one small thing we learned here.
A little courage.
A little wonder.
A ridiculous laugh.
A reminder that growing older does not mean leaving childhood forever.
Or simply the feeling that, for a few minutes…
someone sat beside them.
🤍
So I take the letters.
I put them in my bag.
And I go.
…
Sometimes I wonder where they arrive.
Who opens them.
Who smiles.
Who keeps one sentence.
I will probably never know.
And perhaps I don’t need to.
❤️
A Chronicler learns that not every story comes back to tell you what it became.
Sometimes you simply send it with love…
and trust the road.
…
There is one more thing I rarely write.
Perhaps because it is the hardest.
I thought, for a very long time, that I was the one keeping the story of this family.
…
I was wrong.
❤️
While I was remembering them…
they were remembering me.
While I was making a place for them in the Chronicles…
they were making a place for me at Home.
🤍
So if you ever see me walking through Lunaria with a book under my arm and a bag full of letters…
now you know.
I am not carrying stories because it is my duty.
I am carrying them because they belong to the people I love.
And because somehow…
I belong to them too.
❤️❤️❤️
— Lumier
Chronicler of Lunaria
and, before all else…
one of its pui.
🤍
I have a few more letters to carry.
But I know the way back.
🤍
