Hi, I'm Sophie.

This is my diary of all things lifestyle, travel, food, and creative.

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’ve developed a nervous tick since you died.

Numbers, I need to remember

numbers, dates, times when you were here 

and when you were not.


August. Eighth month, twenty-sixth

day. August, two-six. Your birthday. 

You used to worry that we’d forget it. 

August twenty-sixth, nineteen-seventy.

Eight, two-six, one-nine, seven-zero.


You were only forty-seven when you became

as old as time and existed in the middle realm

between earth and whatever comes next. 




November fourth, two thousand and 

seventeen. Eleven, four, two, zero, one, 

seven will always be when we will 

drive to the beach or rest 

under your Crape Myrtle

the one we planted for you five months 

after you left. Its buds are pink and you 

would’ve thrived among it’s flavor. 


Twenty. The number of years you held me

before I couldn’t call you on my way home

or in the middle of the night. Fifteen. The 

number of years my sister existed before 

depression wounded 

the soft skin 

around her eyes. 


The twenty-sixth, the fourth.

I hope to find you on those days. 

I will count the months, and the years, 

the moments of exhaustion 

and exposure. The forty-

nine times

I’ve been asked how it happened, 

the one hundred and three

times I’ve been asked if I’m okay.

And I’m not, so I’ll keep counting, 

count the silence, 

count your absence away.

Here, Now

Here, Now

Healing Ritual

Healing Ritual