Never waste time explaining. People will anyway hear what they want to hear.

look in the glass—meet steady eyes, a soul that dares, a will that tries. with your own hands, you shape the ground, where hope is built and roots are found. let storms arrive, let midnight call, let thunder test your inner wall for courage wakes when fear draws near, a quiet flame that won’t disappear. step after step through shadowed air, your heart becomes the light you wear. no roar it needs, no crown, no proof your strength is deep, unbent, uncouth. the world may murmur, you will fall, may doubt your climb, may doubt you all but still you rise, as tides are sworn, to greet the heights where you were born. for in your veins, in breath and stride, flows endless force you cannot hide a power vast, both calm and wild, the dreamer’s fire, the maker’s child.

Inside every person there’s a person you don’t know.

I cannot change the way they stand, their edges sharp, like broken land. I cannot reach inside their chest to teach a restless heart its best. I cannot sculpt their truth or tame the wild insistence of their flame. What blooms in them must rise alone, no borrowed will, no hand of stone. So all I do is hold my place, and love them whole, without a chase. I take their storms, their distant skies, with no demand that they revise. For love is not a claim or chain, nor quiet hope that aches for change. Sometimes it’s staying, sometimes free to see them fully, let them be. To know their truth and still say yes, to honor souls, not to possess.

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt 👹

Fragile does not mean weak. It means: handle with reverence.

you sketch tomorrow, neat and bright, with measured steps and ends in sight. yet life delights in crooked seams, in altered stars and broken dreams. the road you named may drift and bend, fall into turns you didn’t intend. but from the wreck, in scattered hue, rise hidden colors, strange and new. from tangled hours, from undone art, chaos leaves perfume on the heart. what felt like loss begins to be another form of becoming free. so let the river choose its way, let restless winds decide the day. your pulse still knows, your hands can see plans are drafts, not destiny. step softly into mystery, release the need for certainty. the unknown hums a quiet plea: trust the flow, and let it be.