Words
in my Head.
A running collection of thoughts. Things I can’t design or photograph, only write. They’re pieces of moments, feelings, and the little battles you don’t always talk about. This page is where they land.
The High Ground.
Desolate.
The entire surface stretching into the distance was barren.
The surface,
cracked and dry,
had a slight hum to it.
Split down the middle was a long fault line,
clearly eager to open, given the humid heat seeping out of it.
Under all eight of my legs, I felt the hum change.
Deeper.
Longer.
The surface began to move.
Wait.
Expand.
Do I run?
The shadows where I lived were far away,
and night was about to become day.
Before I could move,
the fault line parted,
and a blast of hot, stale air escaped.
This was wrong.
I quickly moved toward the hill with two caverns in the distance.
I climbed.
Safely atop the hill,
my eyes scanned the distance.
I was far enough from the fault line.
I should be safe,
I thought.
As I turned to head home to my shadows,
two large eyes opened beneath me.
got your tongue?
The door eases open,
revealing what appears to be a body.
Crouching over it on all fours
is a creature.
You step forward,
slowly approaching the pair.
The closer you get,
the more the darkness gives way.
The body lying there is not human.
Its eyes open.
Its mouth curls into an infamous smile.
Hunched over it
is another.
Slowly,
very slowly,
the crouching creature turns its head.
The air remains still as it whispers,
“What? a cat’s…”
Darkness left a note.
I'm tired.
I'm tired of constantly being there yet forever living in the shadows.
What do they see in her?
She shines bright. I'll give her that.
But…
She wasn't there for you when you cried at night.
She wasn't there for you on those long walks home.
She wasn't there for you when you woke up from those nightmares.
I was.
So when you realize you were looking for me in her,
you'll know where to find me.
Inevitable.
Stare at it. Think hard.
Halfway through the game.
Half your pieces are gone.
How many moves do you have left?
How many paths are there to endgame?
Not many.
Not many that still give you a chance, at least.
You see, the game ended a few turns ago.
I am just waiting for you to notice.
So feel free to study the board a little longer.
It will not change the outcome.
Pills.
It swarms. Not a single corner of your head is safe.
It slithers under closed doors. It waits in every shadow.
You shield yourself. A round shield of white to keep it back.
Sometimes one shield isn’t enough.
Sometimes you need two.
Water. Shield. Fight.
Water. Shield. Fight.
Relentlessly it comes for you,
each shield dissolving as it tries to protect you.
Every day you armor up and face it again.
One day you’ll be strong enough to stand without a shield.
For now, you take its strength into your own
and keep fighting.
Salt Burn.
The salt burns, doesn’t it?
It’s in the food you eat.
It’s in the air you breathe.
The salt doesn’t have a mind of its own, but it knows how to get under your skin.
Some enjoy the singe.
Some writhe in pain.
No one can escape it.
It’s unavoidable.
Don’t waste your time hiding the wound.
The salt will find it.
Embrace it.
Only then will you know what still lives beneath your skin.
To Create.
To create is to learn.
To let curiosity lead.
To look at something a million different ways and still ask… yeah, but what if?
It’s trial. Mistake. Growth.
Design. Photos. Words.
Whatever works that day.
Different tools. Same obsession.
It’s listening. Scrapping. Starting over.
Zooming way out, then all the way in.
Trying to make sense of it all.
It’s not clean. Not perfect.
It’s how you see. How you process.
And to create…
really create…
can make you feel alive.
Under the Stairs.
No direct sunlight.
Each day, still growing.
Imperfect.
Sharp-edged.
Strong.
Driven.
You did not choose where you were planted.
You bloom anyway.
You do not blame the stairs.
I have a lot to learn from you,
little flower.
EDUT I LOS.
Amid the falling snow
and the glow of streetlights,
stillness becomes a companion,
and solitude, a quiet refuge.