a shadow enters the glass house walking past that moment of letting go. it walks through known old corridors of supposed reality, corridors that keep narrowing down, but eventually open to a blue sky showing itself in full glory inspite of those high walls surrounding it. hands touch blades of grass that are not real reminding of old traumas and lost words. but a nearby fern continues to breathe,veins of it sharp and shining in bright green seas.
life breathes easy, it flows through the branches of mother flawlessly. it is tender and reachable yet wild and unpredictable. it is always leading the shadow, always holding its hands through all constructions whether true or not, through all conflicts whether real or not, shadow that is me now knocking on my lover’s door.