First open mic
voice shaking,
heart louder than the room.
Easter mornings blur into small joys,
Ansa’s egg hunt,
planned with love, handwritten with intention,
small moments, slipping gently into memory.
Decorating something
never meant to be pretty
and still, it turns gentle.
Glamour, of course.
Warm mornings disguised as breakfast.
An apartment slowly turning into a home…
a wall holding something I glued together,
a kitchen that feels like a dream,
a gifted bottle carrying someone else’s story.
And somewhere in all of this,
my muse, Isabella
a soul who makes Mondays magical.
And my friends,
turning love into something you can hold:
letters.
