
I make the storm on purpose. I don’t wait for it. I shut the door in my head And let the pressure climb Until the air starts to move On its own

Things feel bleak and biblical lately—politics, hate, the world unraveling. Not a sermon, but a whisper of survival: not yet, not like this.

A quiet piece about numbness, moving through life on mute, and doing the minimum required to qualify as “alive.”

A weekly light — poetry, stories, and reflections from the strange in-between. January arrives pretendingsomething was wiped clean. The calendar flips.The clock keeps its secrets.My body wakes up carryingeverything it had yesterday. The world calls this a beginning.Fresh page.Clean slate.A chance to be betterthan I was allowed to be last year. But nothing packed its…

Christmas has always felt like an ache to me. Not joy. Not sorrow. Something in between. A quiet melancholy that settles once the noise fades.

A Thursday Lantern Reflection on the quiet harm of comparison, and the fight to see ourselves without the distortions of someone else’s highlight reel.

A tender, aching prose poem about answering the small miracles before they slip away. A reflection on regret, presence, and the fragile urgency of love.

The Mistborn trilogy by Brandon Sanderson profoundly impacted me, with deep character development, intricate worldbuilding, and themes of identity and loyalty that resonated deeply throughout the series.