Mending
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Thirteen years of friendship become proof that family can be chosen in hospital rooms, late-night calls, laughter, and showing up.
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Grief is not only the moment someone leaves; it is every birthday, song, and ordinary Tuesday that keeps carrying the love forward.
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Sunlight pours across an old church and turns weathered walls into a quiet reminder that cracked souls can still hold something holy.
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A tarot reading beneath a quiet moon becomes less about prediction and more about listening to the truths already waiting inside.
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A worn deck becomes less about prophecy than permission—to rest, leave, grieve, become, and trust her own choices.
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A jar left beneath the full moon looks unchanged by morning, yet somehow carries enough light to make transformation feel possible.
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The women they called dangerous were often simply the ones who learned to survive without asking permission.
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She no longer wants a love that consumes her—only one that helps her return to herself.
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The hour before evening softens the day’s sharp edges and gives a tired house one small place to exhale.
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After months measured in empty rooms and phone calls, home finally has a date and hope dares to become something concrete.
Between Bruises & Blooms 