I move now by quieter instructions—
not the frantic kind that once disguised itself as urgency,
but a steadier current,
a knowing that does not raise its voice
to be obeyed.
Call it love.
Call it light.
Call it the refusal to keep negotiating
with what was never meant for me.
There was a time I mistook chaos for chemistry,
noise for significance,
interruption for importance.
How devoted I was
to things that kept rearranging my peace.
Now, I am less impressed.
Love, I’ve learned,
does not arrive breathless,
does not knock over furniture
to prove it has entered the room.
It sits.
It stays.
It does not require translation.
Light is even less dramatic—
no applause, no announcement—
just a quiet insistence
that shadows move aside.
And so I follow.
Not perfectly—let’s not romanticize it—
I still pause, still glance back occasionally,
still entertain the occasional unnecessary thought
like a guest who overstays.
But I no longer invite disruption
to dinner.
I am guided now—
gently, precisely—
by what feels like clarity in the body,
ease in the breath,
a soft but unmistakable yes.
There is a particular elegance
in not explaining your direction.
A particular power
in not announcing your healing.
Let them wonder
how you became so composed,
so anchored,
so… unbothered.
You do not owe them a map.
There is humor in it, too—
How the world expects spectacle,
expects a grand declaration
when really, the most radical shift
is silence.
I am no longer interruptible.
Not by doubt dressed as logic,
not by attention masquerading as affection,
not by the old reflex
to prove I am worthy of staying.
I stay.
That is enough.
Love leads.
Light confirms.
And I—
Well, I have finally learned
to follow without argument.
No interruptions–
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Healing Majestically 