MMXXVI
And yet, somehow, we continue.
Not an archive of answers. An archive of attention.
people who
know me
Charlotte, NC
Still June exists because life rarely unfolds the way we imagine it will.
The stories we inherit break.
The people we love leave.
The beliefs that once held us together stop making sense.
Our bodies change. Our families change. We change.
And yet, somehow, we continue.
Still.
This is not an archive of answers. It is an archive of attention — a record of what it felt like to stand where we stood.
The moments collected here are not the most dramatic moments in a life. Often they are the opposite.
A silence.
A doorway.
A hospital room.
A phone call.
A laugh carried through the trees.
The feeling in your stomach before you know why.
The things that would disappear if nobody wrote them down.
Still June is built on a simple belief: the moments that make us feel most alone are often the moments that connect us most deeply to one another. Not because our stories are identical. Because our humanity is.
This is not a space for certainty. Certainty has never interested me much. What interests me are the questions that remain after certainty leaves.
What remains after faith.
What remains after grief.
What remains after divorce.
What remains after becoming someone you never expected to be.
The essays here are not attempts to set the record straight. They are attempts to make a record at all. Not of facts. Of presence. Of memory. Of what it felt like.
The goal is to tell the truth carefully enough that someone else recognizes themselves inside it.
If there is a mission, it is this: leave a thread. Something small and human. Something another person might find when they need it. A quiet voice in the dark saying:
I was here.This mattered.Me too.