I see your exhaustion, and your wide open heart, putting your needs on the back burner. Giving until there’s nothing left but the dust of old promises. 

Of forgotten Paris trips. 
Of harried mornings of burnt toast and overcooked eggs  
Of creative dreams drowned in a pot of crusted over paint  

What if I told you your love was not a transaction to be doled out like pennies? And instead should be treated like spun gold. 

What if I told you your worth was not dependent on others but lay within yourself? 

Would you shiver in fear? 

And ask yourself, “But who I am if I am not needed?” 

Beautiful one. 

You’re the ink unfurling from a pen on an unmarked page.  

You’re whoever you want to be. 

A Writer & Space Holder

I'm Nicole.

Welcome!