self reflection
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The walls remember every version of her—the tears, the coffee, the restless nights, and the woman who kept figuring out what came next.
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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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An unfinished sentence becomes a declaration of everything survival, grief, motherhood, and becoming have made her.
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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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The deck never predicted the future; it simply kept refusing to let her lie about the present.
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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 men who confused control, desire, and love, one familiar person stands apart in the softness of ordinary things he chooses to share.
Between Bruises & Blooms 