Safe Here

I used to sit in what I believed was my safest place right beside my childhood drawings. Small houses. Simple flowers. The kind of images that once defined safety for me. For a long time, I thought I was made of wounds. Everywhere it hurt, I placed a bandage. Quietly. Without letting anyone notice. Slowly, my whole body became a collection of temporary fixes. Wounds that were never truly seen only covered. But something strange happened. From beneath those bandages, things began to grow. As if the pain was never just pain. It was a seed. And while I stayed seated in that “safe” corner, the drawings started to fade. The colors drained. The lines blurred. As if that childhood security was only ever an image not a real shelter. There’s a chain around my ankle. But honestly, what keeps me still isn’t the weight of the ball it’s the belief that I can’t move. The limits I feel look real. But most of them are old voices in my head. Voices born inside those drawn houses. Voices whispering, “Stay.” Maybe the walls were never real. Maybe the chain was never that strong. Maybe growth begins exactly where the illusion of safety starts to disappear.

Chain

TEZOS

Network

Tezos

Contract

KT1LbMjh2Hro8sBJQubkYAqEVwzn44Vi99Vz

Token ID

10