The Work | signal-seal.net

Some of the work is invisible.
A nervous system wired for alarm.
A body trained to flinch before it knows why.
An ability to vanish mid-room.
They never called it work, but I bled for it.

☾

The words were spells.
The breath was reclamation.
The ritual was small:
Sit. Write. Sound. Repeat.
This is where I placed the pieces.
Not to make them pretty—just to keep them from disappearing.

⇞

You don’t owe anyone your healing.
But if you feel the pull to offer something—
a story, a fragment, a ritual of your own—
this space can hold it.
The work is never finished. But it travels.

∞

​Some of the work is invisible. A nervous system wired for alarm. A body trained to flinch before it knows why. An ability to vanish mid-room. They never called it work, but I bled for it.

You don’t owe anyone your healing. But if you feel the pull to offer something— a story, a fragment, a ritual of your own— this space can hold it. The work is never finished. But it travels.

Some of the work is invisible.
A nervous system wired for alarm.
A body trained to flinch before it knows why.
An ability to vanish mid-room.
They never called it work, but I bled for it.

You don’t owe anyone your healing.
But if you feel the pull to offer something—
a story, a fragment, a ritual of your own—
this space can hold it.
The work is never finished. But it travels.