Not everything written here was meant to be kept.

Some pages were folded and reopened. Some thoughts were crossed out and written again. These are observations made in passing—details that felt important enough to note, even when their meaning wasn’t clear yet. This journal isn’t a record of answers. It’s a place for noticing what lingers.

The water behaved differently here.

It moved, but not forward.

Stillness doesn’t mean empty.

They moved as if the cave remembered them.

        I counted the shapes twice.

                                                                                                         The number didn’t change.

The jetty had always been there.

The seaweed caught at my feet.

                                                                                                  I didn’t rush.

Something was set aside, not lost.

I noticed it before I understood it.

                                                                                                   The shape stayed.

I’ll add to this when there’s more to notice.