Change is ultimately the thing that makes us who we were meant to be all along.
Good person, messy eater, notorious plant killer.
Grief is a great inevitability, and that isn’t a bad thing.
I have a minimal list of skills in this life, but among them is my ability to daydream extensively.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for in your kitchen. Some sort of solution, I guess. I never get it.
Love was an eyebrow scar. It was a booming chuckle (not laugh) that overtook the sanctuary. It was a mess of curly hair, twinkling eyes, and crooked smiles.
I understand that in some stories I play a minor role. I understand in some I am a passing extra, or a main character, and sometimes I am the villain. I’m okay with all of those roles, but what worries me most is that my overall view of myself is inaccurate.
Something I’ve noticed lately—and for a long time, to be honest—is how often we say we’re sorry.
Moving away from home is one of the most exhilarating experiences that I firmly believe everyone should indulge in during their lifetimes.