There was a last time you said it out loud,
Maybe to someone at a table,
Maybe to no one in a car.
You have not said it since.
And you know roughly when you stop.
This is not about why.
Let your jaw come apart at the hint.
Shoulders down,
Away from your ears.
Hands open.
Palms wherever they land.
There is one sentence for tonight.
It is short and it is yours.
Repeat quietly.
I describe the life I want.
You are not asking for anything.
You are only describing.
The way you once described it easily.
Notice the back of your neck and let it be heavy.
Your ribs move without your help.
Let the words sit on top of that movement.
Nothing more,
They can stay small and flat.
Say it again,
The same words.
I describe the life I want.
Somewhere behind your eyes,
There is a picture you keep half finished.
There is no need to complete it now.
Let the space behind the eyes go wide and dim.
Your hands know the shape of the things you use every day.
The life you stop describing is made of small objects like these.
A cup,
A door.
One more time.
With the jaws still loose.
I describe the life I want.
Now let the sentence go.
It does not need to be held all night.
Your shoulders can stay down without you watching them.
You said it three times tonight.
Out loud enough for you to hear.
That is what happened here.
Nothing else is being asked of you.