Category: writing
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I’m looking at you
I’m looking at a world in flux. A world so precariously balanced on the edge of a the void that I feel like I need to walk in slippered feet, on my toes, as I wait for the tip.
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Built in Stone
What does love mean to you? What is your story when it comes to love? I think our concept of love changes with time and age.
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It was a lie.
Where is your family from? Where are YOU from? Does it matter to you? My history turned out to be a lie.
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Let go, hold on
How hard do you hold onto friendships? How many people do you have in your life from a long time ago? When do you let go?
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How far?
I adore travel, and I have one specific thought every time we go somewhere: I’ve come a long, long way from where I began.
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No balls for me.
Not all of us are made for catching, running, throwing, or sweating. Some of us are made for ball-less things that require more sitting than anything else.
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Shhhh
I’ve never experienced true silence. I don’t know if it’s even possible on this planet. Doesn’t everything have it’s own language of some kind?
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Mapping
It’s funny, when you really think about a room you use all the time and the way it’s set up, and why.
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Fondling hope
Funny, what we drag along with us wherever we go. Another bit of downer one today, sorry.
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Sunday Rituals
I suppose the thing about our Sundays is that they aren’t usually all that interesting. And that’s a good thing. Thinking about what I did, and didn’t do, was a type of meditation, I suppose. How we spend our free time can tell us a lot about who we are.
Brey Willows 