Some seasons feel heavier than others.
Not for any one reason, but for the quiet ache that lingers in the background, the kind that builds slowly and asks you to carry more than you should.

During those times, I find myself returning to words.
Soft words. Honest ones.
The kind that wrap around you like a worn quilt, reminding you that you’re not lost, just becoming.

This poem is for anyone standing at the edge of something new,
unsure, maybe a little tired,
but still holding on to a flicker of light.

May it meet you gently, wherever you are.

—Autumn