even little details mean so much. they can mend a person bit by bit.

i am trying to be my own friend, and it turns out i'm not as bad as i have believed for far too long.

Mirror mirror, Murray Fredericks

House of Plants

Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

— Unknown

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@kate.lavie

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“We all have her smile.  And her nose too, but we’re prouder of the smile.  She was so giving.  She used to make everyone cakes.  Lots and lots of cakes.  All throughout our childhood, we had these amazing, handcrafted cakes: trains, ships, castles, dolls.  Kshiteeja got a stethoscope cake when she was accepted into medical school.  Deepshikha got a camera cake because she loves photography.  And I love reading, so I got a book cake.  Even our extended family got cakes for every birthday.  Mom held our whole family together.  But depression was in her blood.  Even during her darkest periods, she’d be thinking of us.  Her constant thought was always: ‘I’m bothering you, I’m bothering you.’  She hated that we were taking care of her.  So we think, in her mind, that even her final act was an act of giving.  It’s been five years now.  After her death, we made a rule.  If anyone has a feeling, we have to talk about it.  Even our dad.  And the rest of us have to listen.  It’s made us much closer.  We talk about her a lot, especially when we’re eating.  I make the cakes now.  I’m not as much of an artist.  I don’t have the same aesthetic.  But Deepshikha just had a birthday, so I made her a chocolate tart, with a layer of cookie butter, a layer of chocolate pudding, and topped with raspberries, hazelnuts, and edible flowers.  When she tasted it, she gave me my favorite compliment.  She said: ‘Mom would have been so proud.’” (Bombay, India) #quarantinestories