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  • I hear your voice, but I cannot see you.
    Your words are too bright to behold.

    Take me by the hand, shroud the glow, shield me.
    I will not ask you to paint things prettier than they are. There is no room for lies in this claire-obscure that tenderly, mercilessly, line by line, draws us out.

    How insignificant the hairs on my arm. How sharp the scent of old wood and moss.

    Perhaps the forest has understood from the beginning, and the truth is simply too painful to face. To stare into the sun is to go blind.
    If we perceive it, it is only through a membrane of mercy, a filter willing to spare us and that, by the time it has reached the ground to pin down all rustling echoes under a gilded coat of silence, will make us feel like we are being caressed.

    I hear your voice. Your story is reaching for me.
    If I stretch out my hand, I can touch it.

    * komorebi (Japanese): light filtered through a canopy
    (Image: Jurgen Walschot -
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