It’s been over a decade since my words last lived here, tucked between echoes of who I used to be. Life has since unraveled and rewoven itself in wild, luminous threads — tangled, tender, and true.
I’m walking through a program that’s reshaping me from the inside out, sanding down the rough edges, polishing the raw ones, teaching me how to stand in my own stillness. Writing has been my mirror and my medicine — the place where I spill truth until it gleams, where every sentence stitches a little more light into the torn places.
This space is my homecoming — inked, imperfect, and alive again.
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