Spent the day with my mom—it was nice, overdue. But now I’m wrung out, heavy-limbed, like I left pieces of myself scattered along the way. Is it the starkness of seeing the world unfiltered, or the quiet exhaustion of performing okay-ness? I don’t know. Maybe I’m not sad. Maybe this is just the shape I take now— kicking up my feet on the edge of something vast, staring out, waiting to feel like I belong to myself again.
