There is something in this room
that does not want me to move.
I can feel it
in the way my body chooses stillness
before I even think.
Not fear—
fear is louder than this.
This is quieter.
Colder.
Like being studied
without being spoken to.
Like knowing—
if I shift too suddenly,
something unseen
will take notice.
So I don’t.
I stay where I am
and make myself smaller in motion,
not in presence.
Because I am here.
Fully.
I just refuse
to give the wrong thing
something to hold onto.
There are eyes
that don’t belong to faces,
conversations that happen
without sound.
And I am in the middle of it—
unmoving,
unoffered,
untouched.
Waiting
without waiting.
Alert
without reacting.
Alive
in a way that looks like silence.
If I move,
it will mean something.
So I don’t.
Not yet.