Weeks of heavy weeks of just dragging around

Weeks of heavy, weeks of just dragging around,

like my own limbs were anchors, pushing me down.

Then today, the pen dropped, just slid from my hand.

I bent down to get it, something I hadn't planned.

No groan from the knee, no sharp catch in the back.

The movement was fluid, straight down, then straight track

back up. A small gasp, a quiet, deep sigh.

Like a door had been opened, under a clear sky.

My body, it moved, and it felt like my own.

Not borrowed, not stiff, not suddenly grown

into something unfamiliar, something tight.

Just a simple bend, bathed in new, easy light.