My Reflections (3)

Nearly 1,000 poems. One photo. One day at a time.

Others came as questions, complaints, or the kind of quiet that feels louder than noise.

I started writing in the fall of 2020 — not because I knew what I was doing, but because I needed somewhere to put what was happening inside of me.

One poem. One photograph. One honest attempt to put language on a transformation I didn't choose and couldn't engineer.

Most of them began as letters to God.

Some of them began as complaints.

All of them were written in the space between the person I had been and the person I was slowly becoming.

These are not polished essays.

They are not a highlight reel.

They are what the journey actually looks like from the inside — valleys and mountaintops alike, ordinary Tuesdays, and the occasional morning when

something shifts and you have to write it down before it disappears.

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." — Psalm 119:105