Sat at the kitchen table with all the dyes lined up like a tiny army and this little stylus thing I had no idea how to hold properly.

I have that tablecloth now.

There's this specific moment — maybe 6am, maybe 7 — when the sun is fresh and the air smells like spring soil and church bells and something you can't name. And I always want to just stand in it for a minute before the day gets busy.

Not in a strange way — just genuinely. Because at Easter I notice hands more than anything else.

But here's what I will say.

I have known this silence my whole life. 🕯️

It didn't rise properly the first time.

Why a men's shirt is sexier than any dress, and how we, women, are slowly "privatizing" your world. Spoiler: it's not about fashion at all.

Nobody handed me a perfect situation. And I think the moment I stopped waiting for perfect conditions to feel okay was the moment something actually shifted.

I've thought about this a lot recently 🌸 What I actually want my life to look like. Not in some big abstract sense — but the real everyday texture of it.

He is in the morning coffee going cold while I sit too long just thinking.

Every spring I watch the same thing happen 🌾 The ground thaws. The birds come back. Everything that seemed finished quietly begins again. No fuss. No announcement. Just faithful return.

Can I be completely honest about something? 😄

💖💖💖YOU FEEL IT TOO, RIGHT? 💖💖💖 SPRING AND LOVE ARE IN THE AIR💖💖💖

A story about how beautiful feed videos led me to a ski slope

On how women are called complicated when they don't want to try.

Nostalgia hit me in the eye))

A memory of how on last Christmas Eve I spent the evening in a cafe scrolling through profiles, and why being "searching" during the holidays felt completely different.

About how yesterday's attempt to show some backbone in training my pit bull ended in total fiasco and a cuddle session.

The story of how my dress betrayed me