At Week’s End
The kind of quiet that settles in when the week finally lets go and earth reminds you to breathe again.
The kind of quiet that settles in when the week finally lets go and earth reminds you to breathe again.
What it feels like to finally walk away from a place that never valued what you brought to it.
That unsettled feeling when something’s off and you can’t name it. A poem about the self we haven’t yet met.
One of those moments that makes you wonder who really has it harder, the vagabond or you?
That moment when staying comfortable feels easier than moving. And why comfort is sometimes the most dangerous place to live.
A reminder you didn’t know you needed today that the person you’re waiting for is already here.
When you’ve already let go on the inside. You just haven’t left yet.
A quiet morning commute where the sun hits just right, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.
When you’re in a rough stretch and joy shows up anyway; unbidden, unearned, and exactly on time.
Many of us carry wounds from childhood long into adulthood. This is for the version of you that still needs to hear it’s okay.