It startedwith one poem. Then another. And another. A handful of wordsbecame pages. Pagesbecame collections. Collectionsbecame a placewhere every versionof mewas finally welcome. The grieving mother. The woman in love. The onestill healing. The onewho lights a bongafter putting babies to bed. The onewho survived. This isn’tjust a website. It’s proof that even afterlife leaves…

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