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A new style I’m working on (simpatico)
Back then, I still flinched at my own reflection. Not from vanity— but because the mirror told the truth too clearly: that I was surviving, not living. That the world had taught me to shrink just enough to fit inside the silence. I met you before you knew how to raise your fist. You still…
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Yours no longer
Maybe you will never read thesewords. Maybe what I leave in thisjar will rest upon this mountain tillthe valleys below no longer housea soul old enough to have met theman who wrote these words, but thatdoesn’t matter. Resting upon these pagesI’ll leave my love for you anyways,both so you might someday find it,and so I…
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Terminal Therapy: How the Command Line Helped Me Rebuild
There’s something meditative about a blinking cursor. It doesn’t judge, doesn’t interrupt. It waits. For a command. For a decision. For a path forward. When my life was in pieces—physically, emotionally, spiritually—I found solace in a terminal window. Bash became my safe space. Every sudo felt like reclaiming control. Every successful script was a small…
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The garden
He walks the garden every morning, barefoot, dew-soaked soles pressing into the memory of her. The sun is lazy here, like it, too, remembers her warmth and doesn’t dare outshine it. Petals blush when he passes, but none dare bloom the way she did—wild, defiant, radiant. She was the flame-tipped marigold that danced between the…