The Blanket
Some things are not waiting to be finished. They are waiting for us to become the person who knows what they were always meant to be.
Some things are not waiting to be finished. They are waiting for us to become the person who knows what they were always meant to be.
The most enduring poems are not those we remember. They are the ones that quietly change who we become.
Autumn has never felt like a season of loss to me. It has always felt like coming home.
A poem about waiting, uncertainty, and the quiet courage of continuing without knowing what comes next.