The Waiting Game

I don’t do well with waiting.

That restless space between what might be and what may never come. The helplessness of not knowing. The ache of wanting to know.

And then I remember—worry doesn’t move time. It only steals the moment I’m in.

So I paint.

One circle at a time. Layered color on color. A quiet act of reclaiming presence.

And when it’s done, I slice it into 26 small pieces. Tiny offerings of calm for strangers who’ll never know the backstory.