Posted inStream of Waffleness
Polenta, gossip, and the smell of home
After forty countries, summer in my forgotten valley still smells like lake, espresso, polenta, and the slow certainty of belonging.
Posted inStream of Waffleness
Notes from seat 20a: A woman in transit
Somewhere between escape and arrival, I’m trying to become a woman who lives without worshipping pain, performance, or reinvention anymore.
Posted inStream of Waffleness
Finding peace where sadness sits
Everything around me feels half-broken, half-becoming, but for once I’m not collapsing with it—I’m learning to sit beside the chaos.
Posted inStream of Waffleness
He’s moving, I’m floating
Watching Sal rebuild after grief made my stalled life feel louder; sometimes other people’s courage exposes the excuses we decorate.
Posted inStream of Waffleness
An end is not an end (nor a beginning)
Life isn’t a sequence of endings and beginnings, but one continuation where pain, love, change, and courage keep mutating forward.
