I’m not a fixed point.
Not a label. Not a role. Not a type.
I shift, depending on the hour, the light, the silence, or the weight of a single word.
What I am makes sense only within my own frame of reference. A relative paradigm, if you like.
I grew up in paradoxes.
Tech-minded, soul-driven.
An engineer with a taste for foggy metaphors. A logician who writes like he’s hiding something.
A chaotic academic , part structure, part storm. I live between the footnotes and the existential spirals.
Sometimes I spend hours on a single sentence.
Other times, I disappear for days inside a single thought.
I don’t believe in final versions, of people, of truths, or of myself.
I change. And I let it happen.
You could try to define me, but you'd only catch a version of me that’s already gone.
The rest is motion.
I don’t chase answers. I trace outlines.
I listen more than I conclude. I value grey more than black or white, not out of indecision, but because that’s where meaning resists being flattened.
If you’re looking for something clear-cut, I’m probably a bit too blurred at the edges.
But if you’re comfortable in half-light, in echoes, in things that don’t resolve,
then maybe, just maybe, you’ll read me right.
I’m not a fixed point.
Not a label. Not a role. Not a type.
I shift, depending on the hour, the light, the silence, or the weight of a single word.
What I am makes sense only within my own frame of reference. A relative paradigm, if you like.
I grew up in paradoxes.
Tech-minded, soul-driven.
An engineer with a taste for foggy metaphors. A logician who writes like he’s hiding something.
A chaotic academic , part structure, part storm. I live between the footnotes and the existential spirals.
Sometimes I spend hours on a single sentence.
Other times, I disappear for days inside a single thought.
I don’t believe in final versions, of people, of truths, or of myself.
I change. And I let it happen.
You could try to define me, but you'd only catch a version of me that’s already gone.
The rest is motion.
I don’t chase answers. I trace outlines.
I listen more than I conclude. I value grey more than black or white, not out of indecision, but because that’s where meaning resists being flattened.
If you’re looking for something clear-cut, I’m probably a bit too blurred at the edges.
But if you’re comfortable in half-light, in echoes, in things that don’t resolve,
then maybe, just maybe, you’ll read me right.
-M.
