But light does not erase everything. Some habits are simply relics
When the Wolves Begin to Sing
Movements of the sacred ache I. The Knowing There’s something I have always known, in my hips, in my breath, in the heat that wakes me when no one’s there. I was made to be met. Not claimed. Not chased. Met. I do not want fingertips that search, I want hands that remember. Mouth that …
Who Will Be My Everyday
That what I long for is never too much.
I Don’t Believe in Manifestations
But It Will Get You to Where You Are Meant to Be
Things I Carried
This is the beauty of reflection. You remember the swing, the fall and the quiet.
Reality vs Pessimism: The Blurred Line
Let the ground be hard — I’ll grow anyway.
Nene's Corner 