Sometimes, what others call “waiting” is really just growing in place. This poem is for the ones who stay with their healing, who bloom slowly, fiercely, without apology.
I’m Not Stuck. I’m Rooted.
The Candle’s Been Lit All Along
I’m not searching. I’m preparing. There’s a quiet kind of hope in making space for love without needing to chase it. Here’s a poem for the ones who tend the hearth without knowing who they’re waiting for.
Somewhere Between a Missed Train and a Poem
A quiet meditation on the unseen presence of someone not-yet-arrived.
The Middle is Still Blank
A poem about rewriting love stories while waiting for the surprise ending.
Before we write a love story together, I’ve written a few of my own – always stopping just before the part where you appear. Not because I don’t believe in you. But because some stories deserve to arrive unplanned. This is one of them.
Monday Made Me Do It 