Like a fragile feather, I am reminded of my own delicacy. A mere mark of ink on a page, resisting its own depth and darkness, I am but a fleeting presence in this world. Yet, I know that the solution does not lie in force, but in the gentle touch of minimal pressure, in the art of repositioning, in the beauty of response.

The textures of this world have conditioned me for the rough gravel within myself. But now, I am learning to embrace the creaking of my mind’s hinges, to set the clamor they conduct to music. For it is in the sheepish grey days that I find solace, a reason to retreat within myself.

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, with no expectation of color or light. Here, in this stillness, I will reclaim my softness, my shamelessness, my devotion, my love, myself. For it is in the quiet moments that I find the strength to face the chaos of the world.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer