I am in the shoes of someone who sees what perfection asks for.
Wait.
Rethink.
Not yet.
So everything stays where they are.
Then something becomes clear.
Perfect is not a standard.
It is a delay.
This time,
these shoes do something different.
They interrupt the cycle.
A move is made.
Before it is ready.
It lands unfinished.
It stays anyway.
And for the first time,
what’s inside
does not need permission
to be lived.