Letters to Myself: Entry Sixty-Six
Grief is love with nowhere to go — but that doesn't mean it's wasted. Reflecting on those we've lost, carrying them forward, and appreciating the people still here with us today might be the most human thing we can do.
Letters to Myself: Entry Thirty-Eight
The smell of wood ash carries me back to a quieter place—where life slows, people gather, and the simple act of sitting by a fire reminds us how to breathe again.
