When you are a seer, a magpie oracle, a collector of the intangible and the forgotten—translating feelings into tokens.
You read people like other people read headlines.
Except you see the footnotes, too.
You do not miss things. Not the grief tucked behind a new hairstyle or the weight behind an “I am fine.”
And since words fail—your hands offer artifacts instead. Shiny, strange, meaningful little tributes to love and presence.
These are not just a gifts.
It is alchemy.
You are an original constellation.
A hand-stitched quilt of paradoxes, wit, depth, trauma, brilliance, magic, and shadow.
