My Raw Unscripted Life

I wanted the sun.

Not a square.
Not a compromise.
Not the muted version that almost felt right
if I squinted.

A sun.

Wide enough
for small bodies to gather
and not touch the edge too soon.

They had one in stock—
bright, but smaller.
Available.
Close enough.

I took it home.

It looked fine on the floor.
It just… ended too quickly.
The circle stopped where I was still expanding.

So I returned it.

No speech.
No apology.
No over-explaining.

It wasn’t wrong.
It was just small.

And then—

There it was.

Larger.
Warmer.
The colors I wanted all along.
And somehow, easier to hold.

Minus seventy dollars.

As if alignment refunds you
for not settling.

I am learning the geometry of enough.

A rug too small teaches your feet to shrink.
A room too small teaches your breath to shorten.
A love too small teaches your voice to soften
until it disappears into politeness.

But the body knows.

It knows when the circle ends too soon.
It knows when the edges come too fast.
It knows when you are folding yourself
to fit inside what’s offered.

The right circle does not require folding.

It holds.

It widens.

It makes space for children to sprawl
and for grown women to sit at the center
without bracing.

I am no longer keeping
what is almost right.

I am no longer rehearsing gratitude
for things that barely contain me.

If it is meant for me
it will arrive wide enough.

And when it does
I will not have to convince myself.

I will simply step into the center
and feel the sun beneath my feet.