I have this reoccurring dream, where I run into my grandma while taking a walk. I’m missing the reunions we could have had this year, and looking at this separateness with bitter-sweet intention.

“Safe spaces were never granted to the marginalized. There’s no freedom without fighting.”

Letting go of certain past memories is bittersweet, comical, and inevitable all at the same time.

Finding the soundtracks that have been there all along, making room for new sounds.