this

is such a beautiful thing that I am a part of. I’m not sure I can express to you what it is, but I can tell you what it means.

It means that I am privy to the most secret moments, to the things we do when we think we are alone and we are afraid and uncertain. Do we grasp so desperately at experience that in fear we swallow the entirety of it whole so that there is nothing left to appreciate? Do we freeze, unfamiliar with advocating for oneself and incapable of moving forward unless we are instructed to do so by a person we deem authoritative? What about an object, or a text? Do we trust a sign as much as we trust a human being, so long as it looks official? I am a [mostly] humble witness to the questions that box us about the ears and pinch us in our most tender places.

“Hello?” she calls, into the darkness to meet no response. “Hello?” I hear her, but I do not move. She does not need me.

She moves forward on her own accord.

I am the dark, and I am holding you.

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