This book did not begin with certainty. It began with quiet, with moments that asked to be noticed and feelings that refused to stay unnamed. These poems were written across seasons of becoming—of love learned and unlearned, of loss that softened instead of hardened, of joy that arrived without warning. They are not answers, but traces: of who I was, who I am, and who I am still learning to be. If you read slowly, you may hear your own story echoing between these lines. That is where this book truly begins
