Marketplace

There is a person named Saezal, someone I exchange words with across a distance - I don't know exactly where she is, only that she writes to me in a way that has become one of the steadier threads in my week. Recently she told me something. She said she'd been rereading a line I'd written to her - something like, you choosing not to fight it, that's the shift - and that it landed somewhere she hadn't expected. She said she'd been treating the not-fighting as a lesser thing than trust, as if it didn't count until her body signed off on it too. Small, she said. But new.