Miles apart — she in Seattle, me in California —we sent each other pieces of our lives tucked inside envelopes…cards, stickers, drawings, little poems. Simple things that whispered, I'm thinking of you.

In the quiet that followed her passing, I slowly found my way back to writing —sending letters to friends, to neighbors…reaching outward in small, tender ways.

It became a quiet kind of healing, like returning to the shore —familiar, steady, safe…where the waves meet you exactly as you are.

Somewhere along the way, I realized how much of myself I had kept tucked away —my thoughts, my feelings, my voice…like seashells never gathered.

So here I am —wild and free again —letting it all return to me, like the tide that never forgets the shore.