

My body always brings me back to the moment
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Not what it looks like — what it feels.
The warmth of a mug, the way air brushes across bare skin, the rhythm of breathing when everything else fades.
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That’s when I return to myself. Not trying to be beautiful. Just being
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The more I pay attention, the more I remember:
this body moves for me. Not for the crowd, not for approval — for presence.