Write something
Pinned
Jan 13 •
Start here
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.
Pinned
Jan 18 •
Start Ugly
For the days the words don’t come. Sit with silence like an old friend. Start ugly. Begin broken. Finish gently. Let it go. And when the world asks what you made... say only this: “I made a way back to myself"
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1d •
The Napkin
At a café patio, a napkin lifted itself off an empty table and drifted across the ground. Not fluttering, not tumbling, gliding in a straight, confident line like it knew exactly where it was going. A man sitting nearby watched it pass. The napkin continued its strange pilgrimage until it reached the base of a tree and settled there, perfectly still, as if that had been the destination all along. It made me think about how easily we slip into the belief that the world has intentions... not because we’re superstitious, but because it’s comforting to imagine that even the smallest movements have purpose. Some moments feel directed. Even when nothing is directing them.
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3d •
Break
The cup slipped right at the sink. Hit the edge first. Then the floor. Sharp. Louder than it should’ve been. I froze before it finished breaking. Water still running. A crack spread through it like it had been waiting. I reached down. Picked up the largest piece. Still warm. Didn’t cut me. The rest stayed scattered where it fell. I turned the water off. Left the pieces there longer than needed. Some breaks don’t come from the fall— they show up in what was already there before it hit.
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8d •
Love is my mental illnesss
Perhaps it was only ever the idea of you ... The healed version of me no longer relates to you.. but Iam not even responding to the life saving measures its takin to survive you. Was it my cold heart an relentless mind? Or the self absorbed mental illness in me Was it the detached an distained identity in you? Or the ill intended rage in you? I wish what we had was love. I pray it is or may become.. again.. Maybe In another lifetime. We wait again, till we meet again. Perhaps it was really only ever the idea of you ... I wish what we had was love. I pray it is or least was or may become.. again.. I have found myself putting pen to paper to many times writing wishes into hope of finding something like it, In you... In me. With us... Theres no words to bring alive With a jaw that is wired shut
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