A Deliberate Touch

The quiet broke with a faint flex of my fingers. My green nails brushed lightly against my cheek, steady and controlled. Realizing I could move, I lowered my arm and pressed my palm down onto the ridged grain of the wooden table. The texture was solid and cool under my hand. Each joint yielded with smooth precision, holding whatever balance I chose. In the stillness of the room, I lifted my chin and settled firmly onto both sneakers, taking in the quiet space.