I am reminded of my own fragility like an un-agreeable mark of ink on a page, resisting its own depth and darkness. The solution does not reside in force but in minimal pressure, in reposition, in response. Worldly textures condition me for the gravel within myself. I am learning now not to revoke the creaking of my mind’s hinges but to set the clamor they conduct to music. Sheepish grey days are my preference for a reason. I am learning now that before my experiences expand into a hurdling, rupturing flight I must first readjust my thoughts to possess them. Not to adjust myself but to rearrange my corners, to stretch their confines and make them convex, to place them in the center of the room. Out into the grey I peer, expecting no color nor light. Here I will reclaim my softness, my shamelessness, my devotion, my love, myself…❤