Roots

At the beginning, there is an act of love.
The kind that reveals.
The kind that risks being seen,
that seeks, through image,
some shape of truth.

An impulsive gesture — but necessary.
Born not from strategy, but from hunger.

Still, sincerity alone
can feel unreadable to those who receive it.
Sincere, yes —
but saying what?

To offer oneself to the gaze
is not just to appear.
It’s to search for a language.
To shape the silence.
To let another begin to understand.

To be seen
is to begin telling.
And every story has its root.