a collection of everything that never found its voice, until now. between long conversations about races and recipes, between the hum of engines and the warmth of food shared without asking, between pink lilies, red roses, and the comfort of familiarity this book grew quietly. it holds no grand declarations, only the softness of moments that passed too gently to be noticed. every page is a corner of a thought, a glance held too long, a sentence left hanging. the words were never meant to be loud, only true. and though it may seem like it's about someone else, if you read between the lines, you'll know it always led back to you.