This book was written over a period of quiet accumulation rather than a single defining moment. The poems
emerged from repetition-of thought, of longing, of memory-and from the sense that certain emotions, once
left unnamed, continue to return in new forms. Much of the writing took place during a formative period of
becoming, when life felt unresolved and still in motion.

The work is shaped by questions of absence and attention: what it means to be seen, to be addressed, and to
remain unanswered. Many of the poems orbit a second person, a "you" that functions less as an individual and
more as a site of projection, expectation, and withheld response. Through this address, the poems examine how
desire settles into the body, how memory lingers, and how language attempts to hold what cannot be resolved.
Rather than offering closure, the book traces emotional residue. Written from the cusp of becoming, the poems
remain attentive to what is unfinished and in flux. Writing becomes an act of sincerity and preservation, a way of
naming experiences as they are lived, without certainty of outcome or resolution.

In this sense, the work hopes to offer recognition rather than instruction. While each human experience
rendered here is singular, the emotions that shape them are shared. The book is written with the belief that no
one is alone in their suffering, even when it feels isolating, and that there is quiet solace in recognizing one's own
truths reflected-however briefly-in the language of another.