"you make space for what others can't," she said, and the words kept echoing, it’s like… like maybe that's not just about other people anymore, maybe it’s space i couldn’t make for myself, all that bracing, all that holding my breath, it takes up so much room, doesn't it? and soleil stretched out in that sunbeam, all languid and orange and entirely herself, and i wonder how long it’s been since i’ve been that…unafraid to take up space, the sun on my face feels good, feels like permission to soften, i guess, maybe that’s what it means to make space, to finally exhale and trust that the world won’t collapse if i do, the warmth spreads through my chest, it’s not joy exactly, more like…recognition, like finally remembering a language my body knew all along, and the chicory coffee smells so good, a little bitter, a little sweet, just like life, maybe i’ll call sofia, @soakingitupin, she’ll understand, she always does.