A lot of people say that my brother and I have a very close sibling relationship. And I guess, from the outside, that seems true—we’re only two years apart. We grew up doing most things together: the same summer camps, the same chaotic friend groups, the same late-night arguments about whose turn it was to clean up the dog poop. When people saw us, they saw a pair. A duo. A prepackaged unit. But during his senior year of high school, that closeness felt like a fake myth someo

Today, one of my friends sent me a link to a website called The Unsent Project. Essentially, it’s a digital mosaic of memories. It's a messy collection of unsent (obvi) messages, calls, emails, and thoughts. There are thank-you notes to childhood best friends, shy love confessions, angry rants at old exes, and goodbyes to people who are no longer alive. Scrolling through, I felt sonder. It's a word I've come to use more and more often. It's that strange, humbling awareness t

The other month, my Literature class was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, when my teacher encouraged us to pay attention to the “language of flowers.” It was one of those afternoons where I was giggly and giddy, unable to focus or sit still. My teacher said that in the Victorian era, flowers spoke for people, that a rose might mean love, while a lily symbolized purity or grief. I remember finding that strangely pretty. Even something as small as a flower can have meaning i

I haven't had a solid night of sleep this week, but this week has also been one of my favorites. It's a very random week, just an...