awkward pauses, ducking from someone’s line of vision, treading lightly or squeezing to make way. in between conversations made with people in my head. indulging through patterns in the carpet, ceiling, wall. not there yet, but I’m learning to content myself in existing, quietly. sometimes, pliant to your expectations. then surprising with my witty, sociable self. in moments of inner diaspora, navigate the world outside, discover that I’m capable of kindness. be patient and stretch this skin several layers deep to hurt. by paying attention, realize how easily I fall over and over again. out of control, scary, but unimportant. in between moments of sucking air back into my lungs, embrace the strange charm or accept that not everything has to be learned. I existed. that’s enough. an amalgamation of suffering, defiance, fears, failure, daydreams, poetry, nonfiction. most especially, vulnerability. I might multiply, without ever feeling it. which is probably why it’s taxing to find definitive answers for—What is this blog about? Why should I read your work? yet, this very question of Why is closing all in-between’s in one circle. which might not make sense but that’s okay, too.