Ephemeral

A delicate bloom. A plant of rare elegance. Found where the earth meets dreams.

Ephemeral is a raw, aching collection of poetry and prose about the love that was never meant to stay, the night trains, the Paris rain, the hotel rooms, the one-syllable texts, and the quiet decision to finally put the phone down.

For the girls who bought a ticket just to feel the wind change.
For the ones who stayed on the train even after they knew it wasn't going to their station.
For anyone who has ever stood in a beautiful city and felt completely temporary.

This is not a love story with a happy ending.
This is the dirt, the root, the rot, and the bloom that comes after.

"You can't squeeze the ephemeral.
You can't force a bloom to stay open.
All you can do is stand in the field while it's there,
and let it take your breath away,
and then let it go."

If you have ever loved someone who was only ever a tourist in your life, this book is the heavy coat you can wear while you carry the scar.

Read it on a train. Read it in the bath. Cry if you need to.
You will bloom again.