Some days, I don’t write to be read. I write to remember.To catch pieces of myself in the quiet — before life moves too fast again.
Lately, I’ve been filling the margins of my notebook with fragments of thought — half sentences, small reminders, soft truths I don’t want to forget.It’s not polished. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine.
Writing like...
Some mornings, I wake up with thoughts scattered like loose pages. My mind runs faster than I can breathe, filled with to-do lists, worries, and half-formed ideas. That’s when I reach for my journal — not to fix anything, but to slow it all down.
Writing has always been my way of coming home to myself.It’s how I listen when my heart feels too heavy and how I make sense of what...
Messages from Danielle
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