Writing Through It
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Peace begins to look like all the replies she could have sent but chose to leave unsaid.
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At three in the morning, every poem becomes another lantern on the long road back to herself.
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A familiar commenter keeps returning to the same haunted houses and poems, becoming a quiet companion at the edge of the lantern light.
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The page went quiet because healing asked for rest, but the words never left—they were only waiting for tomorrow.
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Grief is complex and personal, intertwining joy and pain; survival alone signifies resilience amidst profound loss and enduring memories.
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A summer trip in Vancouver turns frightening when an almost-two-year-old’s warmth becomes the first sign that something is terribly wrong.
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The work may not come with a paycheck, but every poem and page is building something real one sentence at a time.
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Some people become memories; others remain questions, carried through oceans, years, and the unfinished possibility of what might have been.
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Writing the hard things is not about making pain beautiful; it is about finding honest words and refusing to hide what survived.
Between Bruises & Blooms 