I don’t write to teach.
I don’t write to impress.
I write because there is pain in the world that needs a place to breathe.

For years, I carried silence. Heavy. Deep. Sacred.
And then I began to whisper — not to be heard, but to be *true*.

Each word I offer is a thread from my wound to yours.
Each line, a gentle bridge between your grief and my voice.

This space was not made to fix you.
It was made so you could rest inside something that finally understands.

And if something in you whispered, “Me too…”
then I know:
It was worth it.

🕊️ — Marita