things i notice when i'm not rushing - by kitty

It takes a particular sort of slowness to notice things - not the kind that manifests through any conscious attempt, but the kind that arrives organically, quietly, the way sunlight creeps across a room. The world doesn’t stop spinning when you decide to slow down, but it shifts slightly, just enough to see it differently. Details once blurred into the periphery step into focus, timid yet persistent, waiting to be acknowledged. This is my love letter to them - to let them know I notice them, or try my best to, anyway. When I’m not rushing, I notice how my feet hit the ground. There’s a rhythm to walking that you can’t hear when you’re power-striding to the next obligation, the hurried clack of soles erased from the auditory memory as quickly as it is created. Moving slower, my steps feel more deliberate, tethered to something larger. The uneven pavement tells a story: a fault-line of a crack, weeds pushing through defiantly, rain pooling in tiny craters. I think of how many feet have w

It takes a particular sort of slowness to notice things - not the kind that manifests through any conscious attempt, but the kind that arrives organically, quietly, the way sunlight creeps across a room. The world doesn’t stop spinning when you decide to slow down, but it shifts slightly, just enough to see it differently. Details once blurred into the periphery step into focus, timid yet persistent, waiting to be acknowledged. This is my love letter to them - to let them know I notice them, or try my best to, anyway. When I’m not rushing, I notice how my feet hit the ground. There’s a rhythm