I no longer shrink to fit or apologize for the weight I carry.
There are departures that aren’t departures at all. Just the illusion of distance, the choreography of a life forever circling back. I teach, I write, I watch the tide of knowledge pull in and out, reshaping the shoreline. Here, in this space of half-built sentences and restless thoughts, I gather the echoes of classrooms, the weight of unsaid things, the quiet rebellion of learning. Some days, teaching feels like constructing a house with no walls, only doorways. Other days, it is a series of small disappearances—ideas slipping through fingers, students moving on, the past dissolving behind us. But always, there is return. Always, there is something waiting to be found.
Diligent Candy 
Leave a reply to chocoholicbookworm Cancel reply