i don’t think people understand how much of life is grief. not just people dying, but losing the version of yourself you thought you’d become. grieving the city you had to leave. the friends you lost not in argument, but in silence. the summer that will never come back. the feeling that maybe you peaked at 12 when you were reading books under the covers and believing in forever

every city is walkable if you're willing to walk lonely and precarious

Shivelight (n.) — an eye-catching and poetic word used to describe the slender, golden ribbons of light that stream through the canopy of leaves - sunlight pierced and filtered by the gentle shifting of leaves. It captures the stillness of a wooded morning, the quiet revelation of illumination dancing between shadows.