Sometimes I don’t want clarity, just mystery.

A lone traveler gliding over cliffs.

It’s strange how old songs can instantly bring back entire chapters of life.

Noticing the moon every night feels like checking in with an old friend. It’s a quiet ritual of presence.

Every scar is proof you kept going.

Spotted wings shining on marigolds.

There’s a reason nostalgia always feels warm even when it hurts.

Some people you meet feel like déjà vu, like you’ve known them forever.

There’s a strange honesty in shadows, they reveal shape without detail.

I decided to read a classic, but the book read me instead.

Some of my favorite people are the ones I almost didn’t meet.

The best moments often happen in between the ones you planned.

The longest conversations I’ve had lately have been with myself. And they’ve been honest.