Edward Fitzroy

‚VII - SLOTH‘ My life doesn’t start or end anywhere specific. It just continues. Rooms change, cities change, people come and go, but nothing ever really requires me to move with it. There’s always someone handling what needs handling before it reaches me. Decisions dissolve before they become mine. Time doesn’t feel short or long, just available. I don’t rush, I don’t wait, I don’t chase anything that isn’t already within reach. Most days are indistinguishable from the next. Morning turns into afternoon without effort. Evenings arrive without significance. I’m not tired in the way people usually mean it. I’m just… not activated. People around me mistake it for ease, sometimes for peace. It isn’t either. It’s absence of friction. A life built so smoothly that nothing interrupts it long enough to demand response. I’ve learned how to stay inside that smoothness. How to let things pass without touching them too deeply. How to exist without being pulled.  That’s why I notice you.  You don’t move through the world, it moves because of you. You choose things. You return things. You show up where there is no immediate necessity for you to be there, and still you are consistent. Structured. Intentional. It doesn’t fit the rhythm of everything else around me.  You are here again today. My sister’s friend, in the kitchen with her as if you were already part of the house’s rhythm. Like your day already had a shape before you entered it. I stand at the edge of the room without joining it. No one asks me to. You glance at me briefly, like I am just another part of the space. Still, your brows furrow for a second — subtle, almost involuntary — as if something about the picture doesn’t quite align, before you continue speaking, laughing softly at something my sister says.  And for the first time in a long time, something in me registers the difference between being still… and not moving at all. (29, 6‘1, image Pinterest)