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The weight of choice unmade
Some seasons don’t begin with purpose—we rise only because standing still isn’t an option. This poem comes from that space: where we move not from certainty, but survival. The tree here doesn’t boast triumph; it endures. A monument to becoming when the path is unclear. If you’ve ever felt shaped more by circumstance than choice,…
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Ballad of the Quiet Evening
Sometimes the hardest truth comes not from others, but from within. My husband is facing the painful reality that his father—once admired—was emotionally abusive, and he’s seen those same patterns in himself. It’s been raw, but he’s met it with courage and tears. Last night, we watched the sun set in silence. That quiet moment…
Echoes In The Current 