The body does not ask to be explained.
It is a place of weight, of silence, of endurance.
Before gesture, before language,
the body is.
It dwells in matter like a held breath,
receiving time without telling it,
carrying memory without nostalgia.
It does not offer itself to the gaze: it passes through it.
In these forms, the body does not act,
does not dance, does not struggle.
It inhabits.
And in its silence, it becomes presence.
Here, the body does not represent: it is.
