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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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I’m going to be honest:I’ve stared at the same chapter for three hours and made two edits. One of them was a comma. I was supposed to be further along by now.Supposed to be querying. Supposed to be confident. Supposed to be committed to the version of the book that I thought was “ready.” But
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What Change, Big or Small, Would You Like Your Blog to Make in the World? If I’m being honest—and I didn’t come here to lie—I don’t want to write a blog that teaches you how to be better. I want to write a blog that gives you permission to be exactly as you are. Not
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Life’s messy. Mine, especially.Between the deadlines, the dreams, and the occasional existential meltdown, I’ve been doing my best to survive the chaos—and hold on to the things that matter. This blog is new. You probably haven’t been here long. Maybe you stumbled in by accident—looking for something dark and moody and laced with just enough
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A Visit to the Dallas Holocaust and Human Rights Museum Some places feel like they have a heartbeat. Not the comforting, lullaby thrum of home, but the uneasy, echoing pulse of memory refusing to be buried. The Dallas Holocaust and Human Rights Museum doesn’t live on the usual list of day trips or weekend recommendations.
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If I had to wear the same outfit every day, the real dilemma wouldn’t be fashion. It’d be comfort vs. illusion. Do I want to feel like a woman who has her life together—or like one who’s finally decided to stop pretending she ever did? And that, my friends, is the line between athleisure and
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If there is one question guaranteed to start a good conversation, it’s this one: What kind of music do you love? For me, the answer is…complicated. Because honestly? I like a little bit of everything. I have days where I’m in the mood for something gritty and loud, and others where I want something atmospheric
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A.S. Thorne 