This was beautiful. Words- spoken or unspoken- will always matter. Cause even in the case of the unspoken words, you still get the feelings behind people's actions(can't verbalize 'I love you' but they'll fill your gas tank up cause you don't like doing it)
Wow, my dear friend, this is so beautiful. The words have come a long way from the silence that made them. So did you, Dad. So did I. I had to sit with that ending for a long moment. The newspaper boy becoming the father of a writer who now runs her own route, words instead of papers, a digital doorstep instead of a gate with dogs. The lineage of it. The quiet inheritance.
And Foglia and Folgers side by side like that. The chronicle and the coffee. Someone's morning needing both. You wanting to be half as good one day, which tells us everything about how seriously you take this work and how much you love him. This is tender and precise and completely yours. Happy Father's Day to him, and MashaAllāh on you, my friend. ❤️❤️❤️😊🥰✨️🫶🏻
Saira, this means more than you know. "The quiet inheritance" — that's the whole poem in three words. You always find the center of a piece faster than I do. JazakAllah khair, habibti. Sitting with your read of this is its own kind of gift today. ❤️🫶🏻
My pleasure! Wa iyyaki, habibti. And the quiet inheritance was there because you put it there. I just knew where to look because your writing always lays the path so clearly, even when it feels like you are wandering.What you built in this piece, the newspaper boy, the 5 AM route, the dogs at the gate, and then you, words instead of papers, your own route, your own doorstep, that is not a coincidence of craft. That is a daughter who paid attention. To him and to language. Both at once. JazakAllāhkhair for sharing this one today of all days. MashaAllāh on you and on him. 🫶🏻✨️❤️🥰
So beautiful.🤍
Thank you 😊
Beautiful analogies. I have missed being here and reading your soulful writing, my friend. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you so much Luna! Good to have you back 😊
❤️❤️
This was beautiful. Words- spoken or unspoken- will always matter. Cause even in the case of the unspoken words, you still get the feelings behind people's actions(can't verbalize 'I love you' but they'll fill your gas tank up cause you don't like doing it)
Thank Hue!! That is so true!
Wow, my dear friend, this is so beautiful. The words have come a long way from the silence that made them. So did you, Dad. So did I. I had to sit with that ending for a long moment. The newspaper boy becoming the father of a writer who now runs her own route, words instead of papers, a digital doorstep instead of a gate with dogs. The lineage of it. The quiet inheritance.
And Foglia and Folgers side by side like that. The chronicle and the coffee. Someone's morning needing both. You wanting to be half as good one day, which tells us everything about how seriously you take this work and how much you love him. This is tender and precise and completely yours. Happy Father's Day to him, and MashaAllāh on you, my friend. ❤️❤️❤️😊🥰✨️🫶🏻
Saira, this means more than you know. "The quiet inheritance" — that's the whole poem in three words. You always find the center of a piece faster than I do. JazakAllah khair, habibti. Sitting with your read of this is its own kind of gift today. ❤️🫶🏻
My pleasure! Wa iyyaki, habibti. And the quiet inheritance was there because you put it there. I just knew where to look because your writing always lays the path so clearly, even when it feels like you are wandering.What you built in this piece, the newspaper boy, the 5 AM route, the dogs at the gate, and then you, words instead of papers, your own route, your own doorstep, that is not a coincidence of craft. That is a daughter who paid attention. To him and to language. Both at once. JazakAllāhkhair for sharing this one today of all days. MashaAllāh on you and on him. 🫶🏻✨️❤️🥰
Thank you so much my friend 🫶🏻✨️❤️🥰
Always, my friend Always. ❤️🥰🫶🏻✨️