where the edge softens

There is a place where things begin to blur.

Not disappear.
Not resolve.

Just soften.

Edges lose their certainty.

What felt separate
begins to lean into what surrounds it.

For a long time,
I thought clarity meant definition.

Clean lines.
Clear direction.

Something I could point to and name.

But the more I looked,
the more I began to notice something else.

The field does not divide itself.

It holds difference
without needing to separate it.

—

Sometimes what we call confusion
is simply a place where things are still meeting.

Not yet distinct.
Not yet formed.

—

There is no need to rush this.

No need to sharpen
what is still soft.

A form emerges slowly.

In its own time.

—

These days,
I pay more attention to that.

Not how to define,
but how to stay
where the edge is still changing.