“This was never a passion. It was a quiet becoming.”
Writing, for me, wasn’t love at first sight. It was a stranger I met in silence. A presence that lingered when no one else stayed. Over time, it became a mirror to my feelings, a translator for thoughts I couldn’t say out loud.
What I write isn’t fiction—it’s memory threaded through metaphor. It’s the heart doing what the voice never could. Each story in this book is a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Each line, a part of me I once left behind.
I don’t write because I must. I write because somehow—writing remembers me.