And you thought you knew me… Did you ever look deeply into my eyes of slate blue; my layers, dense, enduring, suitable for roofs, for floors, for words; my edges, sharp, cutting, suitable for tools, for weapons? Have you placed your open palm upon my heart, stronger than my hands, more resolute than your persuasion?
Have you not wondered at my quiet intensity, my intelligent sensitivity? It has been there all along, a lifetime of internalisation, of observation, of tolerance, of compassion; never averting my glance, my gaze, my wonder.
This is not a confession. I am guilty of nothing. Though I like tight places, I have never been in the closet. I venture here, not out, but beyond. Having disembroiled myself from the ravelled, choking maze of caution, this is I, an I who mine is, for the courage no other to be.