Sediment

Dad fighting cancer. Mom with a broken back. Me? stretched thin.
I had nothing left to give, and still, I kept going.

It started with white paper, glue, and a girl who had nothing left but her scissors and a stubborn heart.
No color. No plan. Just circles of white, cut one after another. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to be “brave.”
I just needed to move my hands.

The quiet repetition of healing. The shape of surrender.

This piece began when everything else fell apart, grief piling at my feet,
days melting into nights, and my hands reaching for something that felt like mine.
So I cut circles. Tiny ones. Big ones.
Pasted them down like ripples. Or nerves. Or petals.
I built a topography of emotion without naming any of it.

It became a kind of map. I didn’t know what I was making.
But I kept going.
And somewhere in the folds, a new beginning found me.

A layer, then another. Paper settling like memory.
Like sediment.