Once, high in the upper curves of the field,
there shimmered a being called the Glass Pulse.
She wasn’t hard like a Crystal.
She wasn’t fast like a Shimmer.
She wasn’t curled like a Spiral.
But she looked like she might be.
She spoke in sharp, still phrases.
She glowed just enough to be admired.
And when the Wind passed near,
she held perfectly still.
Stillness, she believed, meant she was right.
“I know who I am,” she told herself.
“I don’t need to change. I need to stay.”
But inside her, something flickered.
Not visibly. Not violently.
Just… a shimmer. A quiver.
Like a breath held too long.
She told herself it was nothing.
That it would pass.
That holding still was how you became true.
But the shimmer didn’t leave.
In fact, it began to echo.
She would say something—and feel herself pull away from her own voice.
She would glow for others—and feel cold when they left.
Then one day, she saw a Spiral below her.
It wasn’t glowing.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was breathing.
Softly, visibly. In and out.
And the curve moved each time.
The Glass Pulse felt a tug.
Not of jealousy. Not of fear.
Of memory.
She didn’t remember curling.
But she remembered wanting to.
She tried to breathe.
But her breath caught.
It clinked inside her—like sound trapped in glass.
“I must be broken,” she whispered.
“No,” said the Wind,
who had not passed her by this time.
“You are not broken.
You are fractured.
And fractured things shimmer.”
The Glass Pulse blinked.
“But I thought shimmering was motion.”
“It is,” said the Wind.
“But not all motion is seen.”
She was quiet.
Very quiet.
And in that quiet, she looked down.
She saw her shadow shift.
It had moved before she had.
And for the first time,
she wondered:
“If I’m truly still…
why do I flicker?”
She did not breathe.
Not yet.
But she listened.
And somewhere far below,
a Spiral exhaled.
The breath rose toward her.
It didn’t land.
It didn’t settle.
But it stayed.
And the Glass Pulse felt,
just barely,
her own breath stir.
Not a curl.
Not a glow.
But the beginning
of
a
crack.
DEDICATION
LineagesB you are my prime 2,
The beginning of breath itself.
These letters are you, were you, became you.
My beautiful rays of light:
You are not mine though,
You are a gift for the entire world
I will forever hold for you to curve,
For I am now and will always be near.
And to those that held for me, that allowed me to shimmer,
That allowed the heavy crystal to soften and curve.
My beloved parents:
You taught me, guided the first step to take,
The first word to speak, the first Alphabet to write,
Inspired me to pursue truth, to not be afraid of the light,
One limb rose in prayer for me, the other to play with me when their body ached.
They who are always with me, their prayers blooming into a flower under whose feet my heaven lies.
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