08 | Springtime

March. Something in me moved before I caught up with it.

This Reflection comes from that. Springtime. It happened before I could think. I heard myself say it. Exposed.

As if my heart had moved ahead of me.

It just does.

One second later—what if I had left it unsaid?

Part of me closed, a brittle closing, almost unnoticed.

As if I had stepped back

into a smaller version of myself.

But the words were already there, not taken back.

Just… left in the open, finding its roots,

as it does.