In My Dimension

I almost said it. It was right there, resting just behind my teeth. A sentence. A truth. Something I’ve never said out loud, not even to myself, not completely. And for a moment, I thought — maybe this time. My hand lifted before I realized it had moved, fingers curling toward my mouth like they wanted to catch the words before they escaped. Or maybe hold them in place. It’s hard to know anymore what’s protection and what’s fear. The line between the two has gotten blurry. You’re looking at me now. I can feel it. I don’t know what you see — if you see someone fragile or strong. If you notice the thorns wrapped around my arm, or if you only see the color. I used to think if I was bright enough, no one would look too closely. I learned to wear light like camouflage. But it’s there. The wound I don’t show you. The part of me I keep turned inward. I’ve tucked it behind the fabric of me, wrapped it in softness and silence. Not because I want to hide — I just don’t know if the world will hold me gently when I’m honest. There’s a weight that builds in the body when you stop yourself from speaking too many times. It doesn’t go away. It settles in your shoulders, in your hands. My hands remember every word I swallowed. They stretch longer now, thinner, more careful. As if they’re still trying to reach for something — or maybe someone. I’m not sure what I was going to say, exactly. Maybe “I’m not okay.” Maybe “Please stay.” Maybe something messier — something truer. But I didn’t. I closed my mouth. I smiled instead, or something close to it. It’s easier that way. Safer. But please know this: I almost said it. I was right there, trembling on the edge of honesty. And that has to count for something. Maybe next time, I’ll let it come. Maybe next time, I’ll let you hear it. _____ Alyssa Deabenderfer acrylic on cardboard ~11"x~17.5" _____ *Artwork is enlarged on OWW for better viewing experience. _____ lyssagal.com instagram.com/lyssagal