poetry prompt
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She gave more than effort; she emptied whole rooms of herself into a dream that eventually became a place she had to leave.
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Regret may line the path behind her, but it does not get to choose the direction of the next step.
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Summer leaves the way some loves do: warm on the skin, already fading before you realize it was the last time.
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The ocean lives in her like inheritance—salt, tide, ache, and the pull toward places that feel older than memory.
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Joy can be ordinary enough to serve for breakfast: small, messy, sweet, and gone before you realize you needed it.
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The last time she saw them becomes a scene memory keeps replaying, searching ordinary details for the goodbye it did not recognize yet.
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Nightly joy arrives in the small things that survive the dark—quiet rooms, warm bodies, and moments no one else sees.
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Even the wind can carry back what memory tried to bury, touching old names, old places, and the ache of what once mattered.
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An unfinished sentence becomes a declaration of everything survival, grief, motherhood, and becoming have made her.
Between Bruises & Blooms 