"They didn’t save me. Not in the way that word is usually meant. But they gave me back the morning. A reason to pull the blinds. To let the light in."

For anyone who built castles from couch cushions, ruled kingdoms in glitter shoes, or heard secrets in puddles, this is for you. A call to play again with wonder in your pocket and dirt on your knees. Step into this realm where the sky is candy and the worms are wise.

A bouquet split in half. A bee whispers at the edge of goodbye. Petals fall into dinner, and still, she leaves gently, like something wild remembering how to bloom.

To be watched is not the same as being seen. A piece about visibility, misunderstanding, and the deliberate rebellion of withholding yourself.

I’ve never quite understood keys. Or how something so small can decide if you’re allowed back in. In "Keys", part of the "Things I Don’t Understand" series, I try to unlock a door. The door has thoughts. The key has memory. And apparently, I have something to answer for.

Between obscurity and brilliance lies a quiet tension: a standoff between doubt and reverence. This piece explores the messy, human grind behind genius, one voice note about pigeons at a time.

A restless loop of almosts and stills: the raw pulse of becoming

A post about redefining success. Trading the pursuit of approval for quiet fulfillment, presence over performance, and being enough.