It’s easy to hide
in the shadows of skipped stitches
in stories woven
by people who are not me.
Their faces twitched. Their eyes fluttered. So did mine. Everyone's do. I didn't look at the clock, I simply existed in the moment in a room full of young girls, six years my junior. So much to see and do, so much to understand. I truly felt a moment of utter oneness, even if just for a few moments.
The power of silence, the limits of words... in essay form.
It's time to stop using modesty as a blanket excuse to avoid difficult conversations. The stakes are too high.
