The apartment was empty. Echoing footsteps. Cardboard boxes piled high. A single lamp humming in the corner. It was my first night alone. I thought I’d feel grown up. Independent. Powerful. Instead, I felt… exposed. Like everything I knew had been packed away. So I grabbed my car keys. I didn’t know where I was going. I j
When I first saw it, I wasn’t thinking about horsepower or fuel economy. I was thinking: “It looks like me.” The soft slope of the roofline, the slightly rounded headlights, the gentle arch of the back. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t flashy. It looked… kind. And I didn’t know until then how much I wanted a car that felt like a frien
Some places call you back. Not loudly. But with the gentlest whisper: “One more time.” Kyoto was that for me. I arrived in early autumn. The leaves just beginning to blush. Gion was hushed. Streets swept. Shoji doors closed like secrets. I walked the Philosopher’s Path just before dusk. The river ran soft. Steps slow. Even my breathing fe
New York doesn’t ask for your attention. It takes it. Loud. Brilliant. Alive at all hours. I arrived at midnight. Times Square pulsed like a heartbeat you couldn’t ignore. Taxi horns. Steam grates. People with purpose and nowhere to be. I walked with no map. Let the lights lead me. Neon jazz. Billboards that blinked like blinking mattered.