A line.

What does it mean?

A line that you dared not cross, because you didn’t know what was on the other side.

A line that you stood in quietly, because you were told to.

A line that became a box, which you lived in, because you believed it was safe.

A line that said, “Keep out.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t let me in.”

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When you draw a line, do you draw it straight?

Linear, or does it squiggle

And zig zag ever so slightly to the left?

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I used to think that a line had to be in one direction

Always looking forward

Always rooted to a point in the past

But struggling to get to the future.

And it mean division.

Between what my heart and my mind.

A line that carved itself into my chest

One that I couldn’t move or erase

And it stayed there

Daring me to cross, because it knew that I wouldn’t.

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A line meant something to me then

And different to me now.

It’s a ray of light instead.

And a rotating entity that becomes

Something like the sun,

More rounded, and more whole

That was when I discovered

What alignment

For me.

Photo by Nadine Shaabana