Held Down
A piece about inhabiting heaviness without collapse, where time and pressure build but Nora remains present inside them. Endurance appears as staying with the weight rather than escaping it.
It takes longer To stand up The floor holds More than it should I feel it Through my shoes I shift my weight It doesn’t help I move carefully Not because it hurts Because it might I stop halfway To rest From starting — The air feels Thicker Each breath Presses back I don’t rush Anything Anymore I stay still To recover From moving Time stretches Without direction — Something settles On my shoulders Evenly Without warning I roll them Once It stays The room holds Its shape I lean Into it The floor doesn’t move I do Time doesn’t pass It accumulates Layer by layer Without sound I’m not falling I’m being held I don’t push back I can’t tell If that matters