A poet who writes about love like it's both medicine and poison, this writer explores the uncomfortable truths about human connection, the addiction, the moderation required, the way we lose ourselves while trying to find someone else. Their work sits in the spaces between wanting and having, between silence and noise, between the rain and the shelter we run to. With a style that favors raw honesty over decoration, they write the kind of lines that feel like thoughts you've had at 3am but never said out loud. Influenced by the everyday – weather, waiting, the pause before someone speaks – their poetry finds the sacred in the ordinary and the ordinary in what we call divine. They believe the gods' melody is silence, that rain is permission to feel, and that sometimes loving someone means giving less of yourself, not more. Their writing doesn't comfort. It confronts. And in that confrontation, there's a strange kind of relief – the relief of finally hearing someone say what you've been afraid to admit. Currently writing from the margins of notebooks, capturing the contradictions of being human: that we're both too much and not enough, that we crave connection while fearing it, that sometimes the most profound truths sound the simplest –