I want for you what you want for yourself.
Wyoming, halfway. An essay about my time here so far.
Some people hate washing dishes. I like them, oddly. Here’s why.
Every moment, I am hoping to grow a little.
On takeoff, I saw these two people hold hands from across the aisle on a very small airplane. This poem is birthed from that image.
I wrote this for a friend whose family member had passed away. I don’t think he’ll mind if I post it here, because I think the message is helpful for someone else.
I do what I want. Then I come up with more things that I want, and I love it.