North Star
Even adrift, the course may veer, but the heading is strong: toward the self first, then toward the woman still being looked for.
Personal essays, letters, and fragments on love, grief, memory, and ordinary life.
Even adrift, the course may veer, but the heading is strong: toward the self first, then toward the woman still being looked for.
After years of silence, survival, shame, and searching, I am writing to you again. Not because I need you to save me, but because I finally know I am worth finding.
There are two ways I get something true onto the page. One explains it. One reveals it. Together, they let me survive the page.
Three months of isolation changed me. I am no longer trying to summon love from emptiness, but becoming the man who can meet it in truth.
A personal essay about PTSD, sleeplessness, loneliness, and the fear that comes when night strips away the illusion of control.
A blunt personal essay about suicide as a thought, abandonment, the damage of pushing love away, and alcohol as the cost of not confronting older wounds.
A love letter to the inner child who learned to be strong too early, and to the man now allowed to let people in, receive love, and come home to himself.
Terrorist of Love scares me because it asks me to share myself before I feel fully ready to be seen. But it has also allowed me to discover my own discovery of myself.
A man drives away from a final fight, crosses storms and elevation, and discovers that sobriety was only the beginning of learning how to protect the boy inside him.
A personal essay about becoming an empty nester young, grieving a house that once held fatherhood, and feeling more isolated after moving to Coral Gables.
A reflection on love, loss, boundaries, healing, and the painful clarity of choosing yourself while still caring deeply for someone else.
A cerebral, romantic love letter to the traits, contradictions, tenderness, intensity, and dangerous green-eyed magnetism that make a person unforgettable.
A personal essay about a brother's suicide, the future it stole, and the fear of what grief can do to the living.
A personal essay on grief, domestic life, silence, and the sorrow that remains when love has nowhere to go.
A letter written in preparation for dating.
A first-date story about family tragedy, disbelief, foster care paperwork, and the humiliation of having to prove your own life.
A memoir moving between adult collapse and childhood terror, with real coordinates linked to place.