The Words in my Head.
Here is where I keep 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. Enjoy.
Inevitable.
2025
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.
2025
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.
2025
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.
2025
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.
2025
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.
2024
Amid the falling snow
and the glow of streetlights,
stillness becomes a companion,
and solitude,
a quiet refuge.