the written word will never do justice to a woman, and yet i try to capture the movements of strangers as their lives weave in and out of each others'.
with what ink can i write down the colours of a woman's day, as she goes about her day - measured movements, silent prayers, unsettled glances. what metaphor can ever perfectly capture how she navigates tides and tides of love and loss and everything in between like a sailor without a North Star. what verse can perfectly worship her strength, her fears, her joy, her tears, and everything that lies in the middle of nothing, nowhere.
i try to write down a woman, but my words, any words, will never be enough.