Writing the morning after you can't rememberThe first thing to know is that the body wakes up before the mind does, and it has opinions. Before you can name the room, name the day, or even open your eyes…Why I keep a map from a trip I never tookThe map is folded into the back of a notebook, softened at the creases and faintly stained by a cup of tea. It shows a coastline I have never walked, a railway…The Lipstick I Reapplied Before Walking Into a LieI remember the lipstick more clearly than I remember the lie. It was a deep berry shade, bought on a humid afternoon from a chemist in Melbourne, the kind of…When A Canceled Flight Becomes A DetourA canceled flight can make an entire day feel confiscated. Your carefully chosen departure time disappears, your phone fills with alerts, and the airport…The Shirt I Wore When I Told the Hardest TruthI still remember the shirt more clearly than I remember the room. It was soft, black cotton, slightly faded at the collar, with sleeves that had loosened at…What a Taxi Ride Keeps After the Night Is OverA dropped earring in a taxi is a small event, almost too ordinary to deserve a story. It slips from an ear while someone checks a phone, leans against the…The boots I wore when I walked into a new city aloneI arrived with one suitcase, a half-charged phone and boots that had already carried me through several endings. They were black, scuffed at the toes and…Describing a reflection that no longer feels like youThere is a peculiar hush when you catch your own face in a window on a tram rattling through Melbourne's Collins Street and realise the woman staring back has…Names folded into hotel nightstandsI check the nightstand drawer before I check the room service menu. It started as a nervous habit, a way to settle into an unfamiliar bed, but it has become…The Scarf I Knitted for a Person Who Never Wore ItThe scarf lives in the bottom drawer of my writing desk now, folded into a square the way my grandmother taught me when I was eight. It is a deep charcoal…