The Best Things Are Freckled

On Love, Time, and Everything Worth Keeping

Unpolished. I wanted to honor the beauty of wear—of time, softness, and things that don’t try to be perfect. The Best Things Are Freckled is a simple celebration of all that is weathered, slow, and still sweet.

The best things in life aren’t flawless.

They stretch, soften, and spill.

They earn their sweetness

like skin earns freckles—

not all at once,

but slowly, through light and time.

Love that lasts has seasons.

It fades, returns, reshapes.

It holds when skies go dark,

mends without counting faults,

bears storms like weathered wood—

and stays.

The best friends leave doors unlocked.

You’ve seen their dishes, their doubts.

They don’t flinch when you disappear.

They hold space on your foggy days,

send texts that need no answer,

and love you in fragments.

A well-worn chair has dents.

A good book splits at the spine.

Hands that bake, build, comfort

don’t stay smooth.

They carry history—

quiet pride in every line.

The most captivating beauty whispers.

It lives in soft knees and split ends,

the scar above your eyebrow,

stretch marks, smile lines,

messy hair—seen, known,

never asked to be less.

The unforgettable foods are freckled—

burnt edges, crisp and charred,

sourdough risen for three days,

a pancake folded wrong but perfect,

peaches dripping down your wrist.

Everything real lingers on the tongue.

So don’t rush the ripening.

Don’t trim the truth to fit.

Let softness remain.

Let slow be enough.

Perfection was never the point—

presence always was.

The best things in life are freckled.

And so are you.