My time without light isn’t just dark, it’s one long moment of chaos. When the calm of 41 beats per minute is assaulted by a stranger who steals my rest. Nights. They’ve become a combat zone. Sleep shouldn’t be a contact sport. But it is. So who is this tugging me at 2AM? Taking me from my quiet spot to to his? Where is that place?
Things change. My work at the bench. I am deconstructing it. All of it. My time away from the bench. This too. There’s not much I can do while horizontal, so days are spent wondering who the guy is. This stranger. Forcing me to feel. Letting me know it’s okay to be vulnerable. Trying to make me comfortable with being uncomfortable. But who is this guy?
Walls get closer. The ceiling lower. A smaller room. Where does ease go? Things change.
All This By Hand
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