Her tears made a puddle on the clean white tabletop, and she dried them away with her sleeve. She asked if her mascara had smudged. I told her it had not. She’d never been an ugly crier. And she went silent, that silence that is hopefully, desperately, expecting the listener to extend advice, a hand, a […]Read More Tabletop talks.
Right now she’s weaving in and out of unfamiliar faces, dragging a suitcase behind her. Waiting for her flight to be called. Waiting to land in the uncertainty of the weekend. She’s trying to be brave, but the lukewarm coffee sloshes in her paper cup, reminding her how utterly alone she feels. She thought this time would work. […]Read More The sun will come out tomorrow.
This is what you look like to me :: a whole lot of brave, wrapped up in a whole lot of fear. And it’s time to love the brave out of you and put the fear to rest. You deserve to take up space here; you matter here. So walk like you do. / / […]Read More Let’s speak tiny declarations and small truths over ourselves until we believe them.
If a) we are essentially strangers, b) we grab coffee, and c) you ask me to tell you who I am or my story, I probably won’t maintain eye contact. I’ll start talking, but I’ll fidget with my clothes. I’ll mess with my hair [especially if it’s curly], and I’ll put my hand behind my neck or draw […]Read More Come, matter here. [A letter for someone who is struggling deeply tonight.]