To speak with your soul Is one of The greatest gifts of all. To know one's truth through words . It is so Cathartic a true form of art. To bare your soul Is freeing . To grow in to you. Through what you've been through. L 🇨🇦

On a residential street, a trash bin had tipped over. Not dramatically — just on its side, lid open, wheels in the air like a beetle flipped onto its back. A jogger slowed down when he saw it, paused, and said to no one: “Alright, let’s get you upright.” He wasn’t annoyed. He wasn’t rushing. He just lifted the bin gently, set it back on its wheels, and tapped the lid like he was reassuring it. Then he kept jogging. It made me think about the quiet instinct some people have to fix small things — not because they matter, but because they’re fixable. Because the world gives you a tiny, manageable problem and you say yes. Prompt: Can you think about a moment when you fixed something small that didn’t belong to you? You can take this through borrowed responsibility, small acts of order, or the tenderness of fixing things.

There are things in life you never expect. You can't say *Never*, because that's when *Never* sneaks up on you — lurking in a dark corner, waiting to pounce like a lion. It attacks and attaches like a leech; you think you're done with the *Never*, but every time you say *Never*, it appears again and again, leaving you breathless, wounded, staggering, unbalanced. You retreat to lick your wounds. Slowly, you start to see sunshine in the rain. The clouds clear, the storm subsides — calm waters, comforting ambiance, Zen. Yet just as you whisper *Never again*, it whips you around, staggering you, flipping you inside out. You know that, unfortunately, you have all the resources to manage this. This is your biggest *Never* yet — the one you said you'd never face. You keep stacking the *Nevers* until they become *Always*. *Everything Always happens to me.* Your tenacity exists for this very purpose. Without it, you cease to exist. The *Nevers* stack into *Always*, forcing you to assess where your voice is directed — and that is **up**. Even if silent, it is still there. We find our voice in the silence. Because if we don't, we get passed over a bump in the road, swept under the rug.

Welcome to Fragments Fragments is a place to practice witness. ● Not performance. ● Not polish. ● Not explanation. Here, writing is allowed to be partial. Thoughts may arrive unfinished. Silence is not a failure. You do not need: ● Consistency ● Skill ● A story arc ● You are not expected to keep up. This is a place to notice what remains when we stop trying to make meaning too quickly. If you choose to begin, begin simply. You may: ● Share a single sentence ● Post something incomplete ● Sit quietly and read ● If you respond to others, do so by witnessing quote a line that stayed with you. Nothing more is required. Fragments will move slowly. That is intentional. Welcome. ■ Head to the classroom to start using the Write Anyway workbook and meet Hardy. Read my full fragments as I write them.