While cleaning out the garage, sifting through the debris of forgotten years, I found an old photograph tucked into a small box, yellowed at the edges, stubborn against the dust. I knew it before I even looked — the weight of it humming in my hands. A snapshot of a boy I barely recognize now: hair a little wild, a smile a little too sure, eyes chasing something just beyond the frame as if he believed the world would always wait for him. I wonder what he knew back then — or what he hadn't yet learned. How many choices still lay untouched before him, how many hearts would be gathered and dropped along the way, how many nights would stretch endlessly beneath a sky too wide to hold all the questions that would come. A boy smiling without knowing the cost of wonder. A boy chasing after futures that would later burn themselves down to ash. I am not haunted by what he hoped for — I am haunted by the purity of his not-knowing. Sometimes, I envy him — the unbroken faith he carried...
I dwell in the spaces where shadows meet light, where questions outnumber answers. A seeker of truths buried deep, I write to unearth what lies beneath the surface. In the chaos, I find my voice. In the silence, I find myself.