I noticed that something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not cleanly.
I didn’t rush.
I didn’t brace.
I didn’t explain myself.
Later, I felt the unfamiliar warmth of pride—
awkward, a little exposed.
I wanted to share it.
Not to prove it, exactly.
Maybe to celebrate.
Maybe to let it echo once or twice before it faded.
I can feel the old reflex too—
the wish to know what it meant,
to turn the moment into understanding,
to make wisdom out of it.
But this time,
I’m letting it remain unfinished.
Uncertified.
Still.
Nothing needs to be concluded–
for something to have loosened.
Nothing needs to be named–
for something to have healed.
I don’t need to know what this becomes.
It is enough that I remained intact.
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