I want to say thank you, please, I love you so many times that the words become a prayer. I want to hold eye contact and smile with warmth long enough for a nervous heart to steady. I want to listen until sorrow speaks in a dialect I can understand. Because once, when I was all edge, someone handed me gentleness I had not earned, and it softened... See more
To love humans is not optimism; it requires an unrelenting, deliberate faith, the stubborn act of catching every dropped match and insisting it can still light a candle. It is choosing to notice the softness happening everywhere: a stranger pressing tissues into another’s palm, a barista sliding an extra biscuit across the counter, the way a lover... See more
And I do not want more doors—I want to walk through one without looking back. I want to love something long enough to feel it love me in return. I want to lay foundations on imperfect soil and call it home anyway.
But I have lost myself in a million other people. I’m no longer fluent in my own language. I’ve consumed so many dreams that weren’t... See more
They told us we are lucky, to live in an era of endless doors; of infinite selves waiting to be summoned with a scroll, a post, or a step-by-step transformation.
But no one warned us of the disease it carries. Of how too much possibility can fray the edges of a person.
Robin Williams as Santa Claus. December, 1979.
Robin Williams sat down with McCall’s magazine for their December 1979 issue to reminisce about his childhood, his career, and the magic of Christmas.
He believed in Santa Claus until he was nine, the year he discovered his father was the one... See more