It’s been 14 years and I still don’t know how to finish grieving. Maybe that’s the point — maybe grief isn’t something we finish. Maybe we just carry it. Like an old handbag that doesn’t match your outfit but holds everything you need.

My home is a home because of many things.

I’ve always had a tiny circle of close friends. Tiny, like “you can count them on one hand and still have fingers left” kind of tiny. So when one person leaves, it feels like losing a whole community.

“What would you do if we hadn’t met?” I answered right away. “I would be poorer.”

Fluttering stomach butterflies spelt anxiety to try new things. My soul’s lightness was proof for all I let go.

My fluid and versatile taste in music has the footprints of friends, neighbors, random people, bus rides, and so many other circumstances. Each song has a story, albeit short, that reminds me of someone or a group of persons.