A Silent Compliment
I’m wading through knee-deep water, the surface trembling with the quiet rhythm of the wind. She stands a few feet away, brushing her hair behind her left shoulder, and for a moment, the world seems to pause in reverence. Light slips across her skin like a whispered secret. The water, cold and clear, weaves between my toes, tugging gently at my attention, reminding me that I am still here, still grounded in this body, on this earth.
The rocks beneath me are slick with algae, ancient and soft, forcing me to find balance where there is none. I wobble slightly, toes curling for grip. My focus is entirely on her, and yet I can barely focus at all. There’s a kind of disorientation that comes with witnessing beauty so unaware of itself. It makes the edges of everything else blur.
Later, we climbed the narrow staircase to her apartment. The steps are rusted through, chipped and crooked, barely holding on. I trail my fingers along the railing, surprised by how much of myself I see in these stairs: neglected, flawed, yet still functioning in spite of it all.
Her voice floats back to me as she unlocks the door. It's soft, golden, familiar. The way she speaks is like honey easing from its jar: slow and sweet. I am the wand it sticks to. Tangled in her every word. Useful, maybe, but always messy. Always just a little too much.
Her world seems so effortless, like the kind of poetry that doesn’t even know it’s a poem. She moves through life with a grace I can’t even fake. I study her in silence, wondering what it must feel like to carry that kind of ease in your bones. I will never be her. I will never live in her skin, never see the world through the lens of her laughter, her friendships, her inner compass that always seems to point true.
But I wish I could.
Maybe one day I’ll wake up and find that some small piece of her grace has rubbed off on me, like pollen caught on skin. Perhaps I’ll learn to move with a little more lightness, to speak with a little more music in my voice. Until then, I remain a quiet observer. Half in water, half in wonder, I stand desperately searching for a foothold trying not to slip, trying to hold it all in.
Written by Ashley Badger, Photography: Steve Carrasco IV, Design: Dylan Sanchez, Social Media: Hemaxi Patel, Styling: Ritika Sanadi, Videography: Evan Jarrell