There are three rooms in this building.Three small boxes stacked side by side, each one breathing in its own way. The room on the left is loud.Sometimes it’s laughter, sometimes it’s shouting — but it’s always full of sound. The woman there has a voice … Continue reading Halfway Home
Tag: unfinished rooms
The Hand That Found Mine
Sometimes I wonder when my mother started grabbing my hand every time we crossed the road. I don’t know if she always did it, or if it began after the accident. But when I think about it now, it feels like one of the earliest … Continue reading The Hand That Found Mine
It’s Always Been You
A reflection on love, presence, and the quiet places where it has always lived; in oceans, friendships, music, stillness, and light.
Till Next Time
He rests the needle on the vinyl, the soft hum filling the room. I take a sip from my glass as his hand traces the edge of my thigh. Shadows play across his face, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. Still intimate, still ours. For now. Till next time.
The Deleted Folder
Sometimes I imagine my trauma like an iPhone.You know how when you delete something, it doesn’t go away? It simply moves to the “Recently Deleted” folder for 30 days, waiting to be permanently erased.But in my case, the folder never empties.The memories don’t expire.They sit … Continue reading The Deleted Folder
Breathworx
A quiet ache between music and stillness.
Heavy Closeness
This piece is an exploration of what it means to grow up without room to breathe; in a house full of bodies, objects, noise, and unspoken rules. It’s a story about learning closeness before I ever learned space. About how love can feel like suffocation when your childhood taught you to shrink instead of exist. I return to the fragments of myself I once abandoned; the little girl who didn’t have a corner of the bed, the teenager who walked until the panic left her chest, the woman who craves intimacy but fears being swallowed by it. This is my attempt to press play again. To rebuild the home inside me. To stay this time. To breathe.
Held in Chaos
The room was humming low - Laughter in fragments, glasses clinking, the soft shuffle of people waiting for something they couldn’t name, the air smelling like whiskey and wanting. She found a spot up front, close enough to see the shine of the stage lights … Continue reading Held in Chaos
Two Sundays
Writer’s Note: This piece reflects the stillness and ache of memory. It's about the kind of love that shapes us even after it ends. It lives inside specific moments, like Sundaymornings, and becomes an enduring part of us. I wrote this with brutal honesty, blending … Continue reading Two Sundays
Unfinished Rooms 