I tell stories. Mine. Yours, Theirs. The ones people carry quietly because they don’t know where to put them. Because this world can feel like a frozen room and sometimes the only heat comes from knowing someone else has been through it too.

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Art is how I’ve made it through. When things got bad, it was the only thing that didn’t ask me to smile. It stayed with me when nothing else did. That’s what I want to offer others. Not a fix, but a place to land. A way to breathe when everything feels too tight.

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Your story matters because you’re the one carrying it. Without you, it’s not a story. It’s just loose threads. A beginning with no middle. An echo that never had a voice.