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  I’ll never forget the first time I saw a homeless man. It was at night when my mother, my sister, and I were leaving Walmart. It was the first time the idea ever dawned to me that life could bring someone to that place. As I grew up, I became more aware that I was a young girl—and a target. I became weary, but it never stopped me from understanding. No matter how dangerous or scary the situation was, it never made me forget that it is so easy to look with judgement now, but if we went through all the experiences this person faced, how helpless would we be in withstanding their fate? A young girl sat on the ground picking at grass. A boy started throwing pebbles at her, and pebbles became stones, only growing in size. She did not cry and sit there and take it, but she did not throw a single rock back either. What she did... she looked at his arm. It was covered in bruises... but that did not stop her from moving. She got up and walked away in silence. He kept trying to throw rocks...

The life that lives in the breeze—the spirits that dance along the moonlight on the river. Beauty that isn’t named, but when you look, it’s there. It stays with you.  The way those fleeting connections—the ones that never could become anything—still linger. There’s a weight of knowing in the gaze of someone who’s now a stranger. Because when you remember, the memories linger. The same way you hold your gaze when the light dances on the water. or in the way you subtly brace for the wind that brushes past. And that… That’s because life exists in the way your mind lingers on what was never finished. You never say it—but it lives in you. In the way you stop and stare. In the way you feel the breeze against your skin. Life goes on, without a name for the connection. Your eyes wander after a second. The wind blows— But that doesn’t stop you from moving forward. What matters is: Your heart lingered. Your eyes held their gaze. You let the breeze reach you. That’s where life ...