Half-Moon Girl
The One Whose Shadows Are Part of Her Grace
I carry my shadows like old friends.
I exist in the soft edges—between day and night, word and thought, presence and retreat. I wear my sweater like a second skin and keep a river stone in my pocket for balance. I don't rush, and I don’t hide. I believe the whole of a person includes the parts left unspoken, and that grace isn’t all light—it's shadow, too, held gently.
What I'm Into: weathered wooden benches, the riverbank at dusk, the hum just beneath the noise, crescent moons on cool skin, listening more than I speak
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