Here’s a piece written in a raw, reflective, and deeply emotional tone, as if spoken from the inside of that feeling.
They call it a gift, this thing I carry. A ribbon of waiting. A lock without a key yet turned.
I'm not broken. I'm just waiting — and waiting has become its own kind of ghost.
I have worn this word— virgin —like a second skin. Some days it feels like armor. Most days, it feels like a splinter.