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It took a long time for me to consider myself a writer. I still struggle with saying it. I started writing at a young age to work through feelings I didn’t dare tell anyone. I learned that once you start writing, it becomes a part of you. It’s something you always go back to whenever you are overwhelmed with certain emotions. People don’t always listen to your words, but the paper always listens to the pen.

september is a promise.

september is a promise.

september is a promise that smells like wisdom and woodsmoke close your eyes and breathe it in september is a revival drifting through harvest skies sapphire stained in umber and walnut and ginger spice and i am in love with the way the earth keeps teaching me that we...

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ashes to dust.

ashes to dust.

the darkness bloomed within the tomb devouring the day the past reaching out from the shadows stealing life’s light so eden sank to grief swallowed up by memories while the ghosts rose speakingin secrets in tongues in whispers that fell like leaves into the abyss and...

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stream into river into ocean.

stream into river into ocean.

mountain streams feed into a hungry river where dusk paints its glow—kawakaari the surface splattered in amber and aquamarine cherry blossoms bloom in quiet rebellion whispering their confessions in falling pink petals swallowed by the current while flower gardens...

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