garlicnaan

I used to collect moments like they were proof I existed a laugh, a touch, a disappointment, pressed between ribs like pressed flowers.
          	
          	Everything arrived loudly then. Even silence had edges.
          	
          	I would wake up already carrying the day, already bruised by things that hadn’t happened yet, already reaching for meaning in passing shadows.
          	
          	Now the mornings come without announcement.
          	
          	No rush inside the chest, no argument with thought, no reaching.
          	
          	Just movement.
          	
          	People still speak in colors, but I hear them in tone only not sharp, not soft, just information passing through.
          	
          	There was a time I would’ve called this loss. I would’ve searched for what broke, what left, what changed me.
          	
          	But nothing broke.
          	
          	It just stopped needing to be held so tightly.
          	
          	Even sadness, when it visits, doesn’t stay long enough to sit down. Even joy doesn’t ask to be remembered.
          	
          	And strangely, I am not drowning in this distance.
          	
          	I am not waiting to return to what I was.
          	
          	I am learning the shape of life without gripping it.
          	
          	It doesn’t feel like numbness.
          	
          	It feels like standing in open air without trying to catch it.