Words don’t actually give direct answers. They reinforce what has been laid underneath them. The things that have been tucked into folders to be pulled from. Starting with our moments until at some point they stop being personal and become definitions from elsewhere….

We want flowers but don’t really know them. We have notes but don’t really want to know them. The notes are the reason we want flowers. The flowers are the reason we do not want the notes. Holding no meaning for anyone other than those who are shattered by flash…

Adversity has sounded in the footsteps. With certainty coming from that clarity. A clearness to paint a narrative with. And functionality on days of surviving. Turns out that space both saves and wounds. Red invites finding it. To take it in as an expression of love….

It hurts to keep hanging out next to never. A shadowed position that feels safer in a life where reactions are unpredictable. Whose precise language has factory stamped the pain, and the person who lives with the ache. The one that carries the experiences, the…

Despair isn’t a one feeling show. A single color. A solo word. A sole moment.  Nor one of a kind. As a darkness that doesn’t watch its mouth even in the light. Love isn’t a single proof of something. A monochromatic approach. Equally yoked everywhere. Congruent…