Creation is an act of resistance.

The world still needs your art.

The last time I experienced grief that felt world-ending, the words poured from me like blood from an open vein.

Every moment I had, I wrote. Because there was too much to keep inside. Because my pain only belonged to me, and the world felt like an open vessel waiting to hold it all.

At first, naming that hurt and committing it to the page felt like enou…