healing
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There is stone that reads throw me sitting on a random shelf. Nobody remembers who put it there. That is the strange part. It isn’t decorative. It isn’t polished enough to belong beside the books, candles, and little porcelain angels collecting dust beneath the stained-glass window. It is an ordinary gray stone. Heavy. Cold. Imperfect.…
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Everybody is willing to hate you until they need you again by then the relationship has changed. Not ended. Changed. There is a difference. Endings have funerals. Flowers. Black dresses. Dirt thrown over something everyone has agreed is dead. Change is crueler. Change leaves the body sitting at the dinner table. It lets the conversation…
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Everyday starts off like an ordinary day until it isnt. That’s probably how most things happen. Nobody wakes up Tuesday morning expecting Tuesday to become the reason they start looking at plane tickets by lunch. The coffee tastes the same. The computer turns on. The same people need the same things they needed yesterday, except…
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There is a strange kind of silence that only writers hear. It doesn’t sound like silence at all. It sounds like an empty room where people were laughing five minutes ago. I never thought I would run out of things to say. Writers joke about writer’s block the way fishermen joke about rain. It exists.…
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There are things that should have been said. Not whispered years too late over a hospital bed. Not mumbled through regret after someone has already packed their bags. Not carved into a headstone where the only ears left to hear them belong to the wind. Some words arrive exactly when they are needed. Others never…
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There is a strange rule that governs every meaningful relationship in this life. If I cannot teach you something…If I cannot show you something…If I cannot help carry a piece of your burden… Then eventually I become decoration. If you cannot teach me…If you cannot sharpen me…If you cannot challenge me to become something greater…
