Thoughts on time, love, and the messages worth writing.
The squad dropped today. I read it standing in the hallway, jacket still on, like I was expecting to find something between the lines. Thirty-three years of this. Thirty-three years of believing — which is, if I'm honest, a form of madness.
Read →She almost didn't open it. The email arrived on a Tuesday morning in October — her daughter's twenty-first birthday. The sender line read a name she hadn't seen in her inbox for three years.
Read →There is a conversation most parents never quite have. Not for lack of love. Not for lack of intention. But because the right moment never seems to arrive.
Read →My grandmother and I lived in different cities. We could not see each other often. So we wrote. Reading her words was like being held from a distance. That is where everly begins.
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