#smallmoments
Do you ever stop…
and really look?
Feel the breeze through your fingers,
hear little kids laughing as they run,
watch an old couple window shopping?
A pregnant mother,
a girl and her dog on a bench,
sneaking him her ice cream—
Do you feel the flowers bloom?
Do you let the rain kiss your face?
Do you hear the waves crash?
Do you notice old friends catching up,
girls in their twenties joined by the hip,
an old man enjoying the sun?
I see it all.
And I’m asking you—
look with me,
feel it with me,
let yourself notice
how alive love and life can be.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
And one night, at two a.m.,
your daughter will grab your face
and say,
"I love you, Mom."
And even though she’s been up for hours,
and your room’s a mess,
and you’re behind on laundry,
and you haven’t had a moment to yourself,
and you’re riddled with anxiety over things that feel unfixable,
and she looks so much like her dad-
all the suffering and pain will melt away for a second,
and you can just be here, in this moment.
Jun 24, 2025
Jun 24, 2025 at 2:46 AM UTC
She had a habit of noticing the moon.
No matter where we were—walking down a crowded street, sitting in a café, or even mid-conversation—her eyes would flicker upward the moment the sky darkened.
"Look at that," she’d whisper, pointing like it was some rare discovery, like the moon hadn’t been there every night before. But for her, it was always new. Always worth a pause.
I never paid much attention to it before her. The moon was just... the moon. A constant, unchanging presence. But when she looked at it, she saw something else—something soft, something worth noticing.
One night, we were walking home, our hands brushing but never quite holding. She stopped suddenly, tilting her head back, eyes shining in the silver glow.
"Doesn’t it make you feel small?" she asked.
I looked at her instead of the sky. "No," I said. "Not when I’m with you."
She smiled, shaking her head at my answer, but she never said anything more. Just slipped her arm through mine, and we walked on.
Time passed. She isn’t here anymore. Not beside me on evening walks. Not stopping mid-sentence to point at the sky.
But the moon is.
And now, without meaning to, I find myself looking up every night.
Out of habit. Out of memory.
Out of love.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 2:49 AM UTC
Steam rising upward
Blurs the lamp in your glasses,
The tea is perfect.
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 6:21 PM UTC