Unashamedly imperfect. Flawed and unsure. Grasping for truth and understanding. Feeling hurt and sadness so deeply at times it’s rawness can suffocate progression. Journeying without a solid plan, feeling the way as I go. Knowing what I don’t want, knowing what I need to reject, what’s not authentic to me. Still I’m shocked each time a human I love or whom is a stranger to me, experiences pain. I shudder, coil in, so confused with why sadness always must be so present.

Feeling the lightness, connecting with another’s heart, my body feels warmth. I look to you and see your story, just a look, a movement. Your written lines dance around you and I connect to what you need. It’s more than I can ignore, I was born for this. In those quiet spaces I think of you all. My heart full of exploration of how and when and what freedom I can help you to unlock. It’s an itch, an obsession. My pursuits are your pursuits. If I’m not doing it for all, there’s no point in me doing it at all.