My ornament hung proud from a string where she was pinned to dry.
My ornament hung proud from a string where she was pinned to dry.
Her words marking me as they’d sprung from her internal world— exquisitely simple reflections.
My grandmother. She was a success for being exactly herself and following her loves.
I carry my father still. His absence weighs— a ghost in my chest, sorrow and relief entwined, a delicate dance.
I want to live in a way that shares my gratitude for my ancestors and the legacy they gave me. To honor them is to have guts, be bold, and dare to be both soft and strong.