#live boldly

Grief knows no timeline. It isn’t eased by quiet tears or hidden behind half-smiles. It moves in waves ~ some softly brushing the shoreline of your heart, others rising without warning and raging through you, leaving nothing untouched. Allow yourself to feel each surge, each fragile stillness in between.

And when you can, love fiercely and without delay. Time is never promised, and memories ~ no matter how cherished ~ can never hug you back.

Death has come for me more than once—

the wretched bastard.

Someone I crave for peace,

someone I fear for the unknown after.

But it changed me.

Like a soul forged in fire,

it taught me to love freely,

to speak boldly,

to feel everything

without apology.

Because time—

time is a fleeting moment,

and loss waits around every corner,

a pain that lingers like a memory,

a ghost that whispers,

“If only I had more.”

So don’t be surprised

that I burn so bright

with this one life.

It’s the only one

we get to share

I don't know how to explain it, but these two give me the exact same feeling

I want you to imagine me removing the spectacles I don't wear, squeezing the bridge of my nose, and reaching across the table to pat your hand.

The terror of being seen rubbing against the desire to share and connect with others is the friction at the core of the artist's life, or any life, perhaps. It's pretty inevitable, and sometime terror outweighs desire, simple as that. But you only face the fear through doing it (assuming you can do so without jeopardizing your physical safety or core relationships) and getting through it. Like, the embarrassment won't kill you, but it will probably feel like it might to someone who has never put themselves out there like that. Embarrassment fades fast, though, especially when your work reaches the intended audience. Connection ultimately trumps shame, every time.

I was TERRIFIED of writing my first f/f romance in Robbergirl in 2018. I felt too raw, too exposed, and like I was going to be Capital S Seen by everyone. And then as soon as it was done I realized how good it felt, and how authentic and alive my writing was, and now I regularly write sapphic romance and queer romance writ large. I'm glad I did it, and I would do it again. Revealing part of myself, the vulnerable part of myself, allowed other people to be vulnerable with the material in return.

Forward,  forward!

Trip into folly

As tumbling through

Warm cotton sheets.

Let light die by choice,

And let consequence drip

Like honey into hot darkness.

Sip with pale lips

Rich regret and know