I see because I don’t want to be seen. If the microscope is on you, then, surely, it can’t be on me. My way of loving is lonely.

Bravery told me to write. Compassion is planting flowers in my hair and along my spine—she’s finding that the change of season already has arrived.

Infectious, like a dandelion, everything is growing. Did you know that you can eat them? A pioneer species, depression-era recipe. King of the jungle, sun in the petals. Teach me how to thrive.

It seems like forever until it’s not. It seems like the end, until it isn’t.