Gravity of One
Acrylic on paper  40 x 50 cm
 
They never told me it would feel like this—how I’d split myself in two just to be whole in their eyes. How the world would ask for softness and strength in the same breath, then punish whichever one I chose. I’ve loved with a fire that scared even me. I’ve held my child against my chest and felt a peace so deep it made the rest of life seem pale. I am both of those women. I am more. Some days, I am all pulse and hunger, every nerve awake with wanting. Other days, I disappear into the rhythms of care, of giving, of folding myself into quiet shapes just to keep the world in balance. And through it all, I carry the weight—of memory, of desire, of expectation. They see devotion and call it duty. They see passion and call it indulgence. But they don’t see the silence I’ve kept, or the truths I’ve buried just to keep breathing. Now I am here. Still. Listening. Not to them—but to me. I’m not asking to be understood. I’m claiming space to exist without apology. This is not surrender. This is gravity. The kind that holds stars in orbit. The kind that says: I belong to no one but myself.