Reflections
Thoughts that are far too long to be considered poetry…
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At some point, everyone realizes they are both the author and the unfinished manuscript. And the terrifying thing about life is that no one hands you a final draft. You are constantly editing while the story is still being lived. Some chapters need rewriting.Some people need deleting entirely. Because not every character deserves a permanent…
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Some fairytales aren’t always about love… but loneliness.
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A life is not built all at once. It is planted. Every decision we make becomes something living. Some choices grow into shelter. Others become weeds that choke the light out of everything around them. And by the time we finally step back to look at the garden of our lives, we realize how much…
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Not all tears are the same. People speak about crying as though it is a single emotion, a simple sign of sadness, but tears are more complicated than that. They are language without words. The body’s way of releasing what the heart can no longer carry alone. Every kind of grief has its own color.…
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Some people bloom loudly. Others grow in silence. Friendship has always reminded me of a garden because every person brings a different kind of life into ours. Some arrive bright and immediate, impossible to ignore while Others take seasons before we understand their importance. Some wilt too quickly. Some survive impossible winters. And somehow, every…
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There are burdens so carefully hidden that the world mistakes us for weightless. We tread water with practiced grace moving through life as though nothing inside us aches. Because pain carried beneath the surface becomes easy for others to ignore. People cannot see every responsibility, illness, or expectation lurking beneath the surface. People assume…
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Time does not move in silence. It is shifts of light, in the way we carry ourselves through each passing day. Each one has a voice, a temperament, a way of holding the weight of existence differently. And somehow, we recognize ourselves in all of them. If Monday were a person, he would walk with…
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There’s a quiet lie we’re taught when we’re young, the idea that someone will always be there. That when things fall apart, someone will step in. That love will arrive at the right moment and pull us out of whatever we’re drowning in. At some point, everyone wakes up to the same realization: you cannot…
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They say truth is stranger than fiction—but fiction has always been more appealing. There’s something comforting about disappearing into a story. A place where everything is heightened, meaningful, dramatic. Where even the chaos feels intentional. We turn to books for escape, but sometimes it’s hard not to wonder what it would look like if life…
Black Ink and Parchment 