poetic prose
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They say doing the same thing over and over again is crazy. Some of us call it consistency. Consistency looks crazy to people who have none. The rest of us keep on keeping on because it is what it is. There was a shop at the end of a narrow city street that only appeared…
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Maybe it is just boredom that has brought me here, tired of human suffering. Not because suffering is unusual. Because it repeats itself with remarkable dedication. I sat watching people today and couldn’t decide what they were actually chasing. A better job. A bigger house. Someone else’s attention. An argument they intended to win before…
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Rainy days always change the world. People don’t notice it because they are busy running from it. They pull jackets over their heads. They hurry toward doorways. They retreat into coffee shops and living rooms. Windshield wipers begin their hypnotic dance. Parking lots empty. Sidewalks lose their audience. The world becomes quieter. More honest. Rain…
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Are the sleepwalkers afraid to go into the darkness? I think they are. Not because the darkness is dangerous. Not because something is waiting for them there. Because the darkness asks questions the daylight lets them avoid. The darkness is different when you’re strange. When you’re weird. When you’ve spent your entire life being told…
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There is a place in Texas called Uncertain and honestly the name fits better than most people realize.Uncertain sits out there in the middle of nowhere fast surrounded by weeping cedar trees, bayou water, old stories, and generations of “don’t ask” and “don’t tell.” The kind of place where secrets sink deep into the dirt…
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“I am a version of you.And you are a version of me.” That is the part people hate hearing. Because if I am a version of you, then somewhere inside your chaos lives the awareness you keep trying to outrun. And if you are a version of me, then somewhere inside me exists the same…
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Some places remember us longer than we remember ourselves.Some doors keep the shape of a hand that once closed them.Some rooms still hum with old conversations, even after the voices have changed. You returned, not to reclaim anything, but to understand.To see if the imprint of the past still lived here in quiet corners —if…
