A line traces her existence
fine, unyielding, unresolved.
It does not command her,
nor does she resist it.
They coexist
tension without surrender.
She turns her gaze sideways,
as if refusing the simplicity
of being understood too quickly.
Everything around her hums in blue
distance layered upon distance,
a quiet armor she chose herself.
The red in her eyes is not weakness,
but evidence
of storms that passed through
without permission,
leaving clarity in their wake.
The line divides,
but does not diminish.
It marks the place
where she learned
that fracture is not failure,
that being split
can still mean being whole
just seen from more than one side.
