we stood still when the sun disappeared. a crowd without urgency. no one tried to name it.
the air changed first— cold, metallic, like something was watching. then the sky, folding into dusk as if the day had given up early.
i didn’t feel awe. not exactly. more like a shared breath held too long.
some people clapped when the light came back.
but most just stood there. under bare trees. on stolen land. watching a hole in the sky remind us how small we are.
after the burnout.
after the heart palpitations.
after the kind of anxiety that makes your body forget itself—
i left.
no email. no calendar. just this. water on my thighs. sun on my shoulder. a queer resort where no one needed me to explain why i came.
i didn’t heal. not fully. but i stopped bracing.
and for now, that’s enough.
#cayoguillermo #drift #holdings #surfaces #fragments #queerness
i looked up and didn’t try to name any of them.
no constellations. no directions. just stars— scattered, distant, alive.
i don’t always need meaning. sometimes it’s enough to know something else is out there.
something beyond what this world keeps asking me to carry.
#cayoguillermo #drift #fragments #traces #holdings #blackness
sometimes being above it all isn’t about distance. it’s about breath.
the snow kept everything quiet. even the city below. as if the cold had pressed pause.
i wasn’t looking for anything. just letting the light reflect off the ice and the railing hold my weight for a minute longer than usual.
a counter.
a cortado.
a book that doesn’t let you look away.
the sugar on the pastry barely held. like the light outside—thin, unsure.
i wasn’t reading to learn. not exactly. more like remembering with someone who already knew.
there are days when survival is this: coffee warm, pages open, grief in the margins.
the sun was generous. the grass didn’t mind. but the quiet felt too practiced.
i spoke because not speaking would have been a kind of surrender. not to correct. not to clarify. but to stay present, even when presence felt like exposure.
kjipuktuk. winter sun. i spoke in french, and this time, it felt right.
not a defence. not a performance. just a moment of saying it like i meant it.
i sat and cried. not loudly. just enough to feel it leave my body a little at a time.
an older woman beside me was crying too. i passed her a tissue. we didn’t speak.
above us: the water fell, the light held. a circle that didn’t ask anything from us.
grief moved between strangers. not for explanation. not for closure. just to be felt together.
#washingtondc #drift #holdings #blackness #fragments #surfaces
they want our names on brochures, on panels, in dei reports and photo ops.
but when we ask for a living wage— suddenly, there’s no budget.
we are not the brand. we’re the labour.
the wind caught the flag just right. not dramatic, just visible. like it was saying we’re still here. we’re not backing down.
nothing about this was symbolic. it was material. and we were many.
not a burden. not a task. just the feel of small arms around your shoulders and the weight of someone who trusts you without question.
we walked like this for a while. no rush. no reason to explain it.
sometimes care is this simple— a body held steady, a sidewalk warming in the sun, and the quiet joy of being leaned on without breaking.