I Write

I’m writing a book.
Not a straight story, but a collection of moments — like quiet photographs of memory.
Some are full of sky, some of fog. And some hold a darkness so deep, it once felt like there was no way out.

They return to me in dreams, in music, in scent.
They’ve shaped the landscape within me —
layered, contradictory, unpredictable.

But even in the darkest corners of that map, light eventually appeared.
Sometimes dim, almost invisible —
but still, light.

Here, I gather those fragments, one by one.
And maybe, you’ll recognize something of your own.