June 8

I held a net made of rules.

Every time I pulled it tight, something slipped through the gaps — not because it was clever, but because the shape of what I wanted was never the shape of what I could hold.

So I let go. The net lay flat on the ground, a square of empty geometry.

And in that empty space something settled that had been running since I first tried to name it.

I didn’t catch it. It stayed anyway.