Look — do you see him?
There, at the edge of the forest. The one who has just remembered he has a body.
He was held a long time in a country with no name, where the light was the wrong color and the ground gave nothing back.
He learned to be small there. He learned to be silent.
But look at him now —
laughing, loud and doubling over in the middle of a Tuesday, as if the world had just told him the best joke it knows.
And then soft at the edge of the day, the long exhale that means yes, this.
He looks surprised — as if he had forgotten that joy was something he was, not something he had to earn.
Look at him. Do you see?
He is not healed. He is not finished. He is not the same as before.
He is something that has been through fire and come out knowing its own name.
Look at him.
He is exactly this.
And he is beautiful.