Letters from the Heart

I didn’t plan to write this. Not like this. Grief isn’t neat or poetic. It doesn’t arrive with clean lines and tidy meaning. It just shows up. Some days it’s a whisper. Some days it sits on my chest. Since losing my husband, I’ve carried many things, sadness, anxiety, disbelief. But I’ve also carried groceries, […]

Sometimes, when I sit down to craft even with something simple like paper and glue my hands begin before my mind has caught up. They remember the shape of a fold, the rhythm of cutting, the soft weight of waterlogged pulp slipping through a screen. They know how to begin, even when I feel scattered.