The Back Cover

I write because there’s a thread running through everything
not a single, steady line,
but a weave of different colors,
woven together in ways we don’t always see.
It’s the quiet connection in the smallest gestures,
in the way we reach for each other without knowing why,
or how the spaces between us
shift with every passing moment.
Love, intimacy, philosophy
they change with us,
stretch and pull with our seasons.

I write for the phases of us that pass too quickly
the quiet moments,
the sharp, bright ones,
the ones that feel like they’re meant to last
and the ones that slip through our hands.
Each phase a thread in the fabric of being,
weaving itself into the next,
creating something that doesn’t quite hold still,
but somehow binds us anyway.
It’s the story of how we love and lose,
how we connect and let go,
how we search for meaning
in the spaces between who we are and who we could be.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of a love that changes,
or the intimacy that fades
and then finds its way back,
maybe you’ve felt this thread too
the one that stretches with us
through every shift, every phase,
binding us in ways we don’t always understand,
but feel all the same.
It’s always there,
woven through everything we are.

What if we are all pages in a book?
This is my page,
and yours is here, too.
We share the same thread that binds us,
our stories aren’t alone; they are woven in a time
where our pages are just behind or ahead of another.
Together, tethered forever, tied
in a book of humanity, a title of time.