Lost in the Pull: The Cost Of Choosing Myself

The forms move in sync, all drifting in the same direction. Predictable, unchanging, unquestioned. There’s a comfort in the sameness, in not having to decide. But one breaks from the rhythm.

We don't turn for attention. We don't wait for permission. We lean into another direction entirely, pulled by something quiet but undeniable. Not a destination, but a need.