“...here lie the journals of a wilted rose.”
…you’ve made it here, at last.
Gathered here
are the wandering souls—
those who knew
and stayed anyway.
Here we speak boldly
of what followed us home—
the words we swallowed,
the truths we delayed.
Here we ask
for no neat endings,
only the courage to sit
with our severed chains.
And if you find
yourself in these pages,
let what you buried
speak its quiet name.
Like a wilted rose,
there’s beauty in your injury.
The Author
Hi, my name is Alexa.
I have two cats named Bleu and Ryder, have heard ALL of the Alexa jokes (don’t try me), possess a slightly dark, yet raunchy sense of humour that my mom hates and I voluntarily make myself depressed to fuel inspo (which I’m pretty sure is the prerequisite of being a writer).
Born and raised as an only child in the big city of Toronto, Ontario, I have been seemingly forever seeking the quaint country life. Some might also say I enjoy a glass of wine or seven. And carbs.
On my Netflix-filled evenings, you can catch me shamelessly enjoying reality TV, 90s sit-coms, or occasionally ugly crying to rom-coms.