Blood, adoption, absence, loyalty, forgiveness, and the people we choose to call home. Family has never been a simple word in my life.
These are the pieces of my story that pass through this color. Some belong here completely. Others touch several prisms at once. Together they reveal one angle of a life that has never fit neatly inside a single story.
My last steps looked almost like dancing. There was no one there to see them. No music was playing in the kitchen. I was simply doing something I had done hundreds of times before, sliding my feet across the cool tile...
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By the time Indianapolis became my playground, Lighthouse Mission had become the place where I returned every night. It was where I slept, showered, kept my duffel bag and learned the peculiar choreography of living i...
Read Essay→Return to the spectrum and choose another prism, or step into the complete archive and follow the stories wherever they lead.
