Where Light Hides
There are jewels resting upon an open palm, soft as water brushing the skin, casting a faint glow, barely visible in the dim light. Foto de Yukon Haughton en Unsplash Sometimes, it’s not that their light is weak. It’s simply that the eyes gazing upon them lack the depth to notice a glimmer woven into subtlety. Nothing goes more unnoticed than a jewel in the hand of someone who doesn’t know how to see it. There are flashes of radiance that fold inward, like petals closing at the touch of a cold wind. Soft textures, cool as still water in winter, await the warmth of a gaze capable of pausing long enough to truly see. It’s not weakness. It’s self-preservation. To guard one’s light is to protect it from hands too fragile or too rough to hold it without breaking it. Because there are skins too coarse to touch delicate things. And there are eyes so clouded that even the purest gleam turns into mineral silence. The jewel remains a jewel, even when hidden beneath...