And now they tell me: "You, my child, were a rebel." Why? Because I strayed from the path? Because I stood on certainty and yet soared? But rebels only build after they demolish, and I want the structure to remain there. Untouched and intact. I want to see it from above, to calculate distances. Because whatever soars will eventually land again. It's the law of nature.

Everyday and insignificant events. And yet, an unjust slap resonates more intensely than a declaration of war. Small and large events that weigh equally within us. Events that lift one person up and bring another down. One to the right and another to the left. And that is right. Shared. Like choreography.

L. N. D. P.