In a stadium of light and noise, one fig tries to learn the language of joy. A meditation on performance, alienation, and the small tragedy of trying to belong.

"They didn’t save me. Not in the way that word is usually meant. But they gave me back the morning. A reason to pull the blinds. To let the light in."

For anyone who built castles from couch cushions, ruled kingdoms in glitter shoes, or heard secrets in puddles, this is for you. A call to play again with wonder in your pocket and dirt on your knees. Step into this realm where the sky is candy and the worms are wise.

A bouquet split in half. A bee whispers at the edge of goodbye. Petals fall into dinner, and still, she leaves gently, like something wild remembering how to bloom.

To be watched is not the same as being seen. A piece about visibility, misunderstanding, and the deliberate rebellion of withholding yourself.

A soft-spoken reckoning. A ritual for when the world comes calling.