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I want to be the friend who answers.The one who texts back, who remembers the little things, who shows up without needing to be asked. I want to be dependable – the kind of steady that others can lean on. But lately, even the small things feel heavy. I scroll past messages I mean to…
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Some days, hope doesn’t look like sunrise. It looks like finally washing the dishes.Like answering one message.Like sitting in the shower a little too long because the water feels safe. I used to think healing would feel like a revelation – a rush of light after years of gray.That one day I’d wake up and…
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I wandered through a community garden today – the kind that hums softly with life, where color spills over every edge, and time seems to slow just enough for breath to return. The air was full of quiet miracles: bees heavy with pollen, the scent of marigolds, and fluttering monarchs – dozens of them, rising…
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There’s a certain kind of fog that doesn’t just cling to the world – it settles into you. It doesn’t arrive all at once, either. It seeps in. Slow. Patient. Familiar. You start noticing it in the small ways first: the unread messages, the coffee gone cold (or in my case, watered down), the way…
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Some wounds never make it into words. We bury them deep, under smiles and small talk, under work deadlines and family dinners, under the thousand tiny performances that say, I’m fine. But silence doesn’t erase them. It preserves them. The Weight of Silence There are things I have carried for years without speaking. Not because…
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The *ber months arrive like a reckoning.September drags us into the shift. October sets the bones on fire. November strips them bare. By December, the world has gone quiet enough to hear your own ghosts. This is why fall has always been my season. It’s the one time of year the world stops pretending. Summer…
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September 11, 2001. Even if you weren’t there, even if you were too young to remember, the echoes of that day still ripple through us. It was one of those rare moments when time split into before and after. We remember where we were. We remember the silence of the skies. We remember the weight…
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Some days survival feels like a miracle. Other days it feels like a mistake. And here’s the truth no one says out loud: you don’t have to be okay to deserve to exist. The Lie We Swallow We’re told healing should look like progress, like clean mornings and hopeful journals, like scars neatly sealed over.…
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There’s a strange kind of comfort in the dark. Not the soft dark of starry nights or candlelit rooms. I mean the other kind—the heavy, suffocating dark that swallows sound and makes time slow. The kind of dark you don’t want to admit you know. Because once you’ve lived inside it long enough, it doesn’t…
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It’s after midnight. The textbook is open in front of me. I’ve read the same paragraph five times and still couldn’t tell you what it said. My body is here, my eyes are here, but my mind? My heart? They’re already somewhere else. They’re in the half-finished blog post sitting in my drafts. They’re in…
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A.S. Thorne 