“I am in a relationship with myself.”
A sentence anyone could say,
yet few take the time to truly feel:
To live with oneself is not to know the self.
This inner bond is a structure —
subtle, shifting, essential.
Relationshape is a generative system,
born from the interior, where emotions take shape,
where silence becomes form.
“I am in a relationship with myself.”
A sentence anyone could say,
yet few take the time to truly feel:
To live with oneself is not to know the self.
This inner bond is a structure —
subtle, shifting, essential.
Relationshape is a generative system,
born from the interior, where emotions take shape,
where silence becomes form.
“I am in a relationship with myself.”
A sentence anyone could say,
yet few take the time to truly feel:
To live with oneself is not to know the self.
This inner bond is a structure —
subtle, shifting, essential.
Relationshape is a generative system,
born from the interior, where emotions take shape,
where silence becomes form.
It does not measure, does not judge, does not sort. It asks.
About closeness and distance, about waiting, about too much, about too little.
What stirs when I feel but do not speak?
For whom did I hold back?
For whom did I overflow?
Before I could name love or fear, did my body already know?
It does not measure, does not judge, does not sort. It asks.
About closeness and distance, about waiting, about too much, about too little.
What stirs when I feel but do not speak?
For whom did I hold back?
For whom did I overflow?
Before I could name love or fear, did my body already know?
Il ne mesure pas.
Il ne classe pas.
Il pose des questions.
Sur le repli et l’élan, sur l’attente,
l’évitement, le trop-dit.
Que se passe-t-il quand je ressens sans dire ?
Pour qui ai-je retenu les mots ?
Pour qui ai-je trop parlé ?
Avant de nommer l’amour ou la peur,
mon corps savait-il déjà ?
I bent myself to fit, curled inward to delay expression.
Your replies draw a rhythm.
The system listens to tension and pause, translates them into points, into lines:
vertical, trembling, solitary, intertwined.
Like our invisible movements: desire and resistance, nearness and escape.
These lines form internal maps.
I gather them, fold them, and sew them into bags — wrinkled, coiled, visceral.
I bent myself to fit, curled inward to delay expression.
Your replies draw a rhythm.
The system listens to tension and pause, translates them into points, into lines:
vertical, trembling, solitary, intertwined.
Like our invisible movements: desire and resistance, nearness and escape.
These lines form internal maps.
I gather them, fold them, and sew them into bags — wrinkled, coiled, visceral.
I bent myself to fit, curled inward to delay expression.
Your replies draw a rhythm.
The system listens to tension and pause, translates them into points, into lines:
vertical, trembling, solitary, intertwined.
Like our invisible movements: desire and resistance, nearness and escape.
These lines form internal maps.
I gather them, fold them, and sew them into bags — wrinkled, coiled, visceral.
They resemble intestines, sea creatures. Not by metaphor, but by memory.
I embrace the image of the “intestine”:
because before our minds learned "I love you", our gut had already felt it.
The gut is a second brain. It senses before thought.
It knows longing and withdrawal.
I turned that knowledge, into a visible form,
a wearable structure, a language the body remembers.
They resemble intestines, sea creatures. Not by metaphor, but by memory.
I embrace the image of the “intestine”:
because before our minds learned "I love you", our gut had already felt it.
The gut is a second brain. It senses before thought.
It knows longing and withdrawal.
I turned that knowledge, into a visible form,
a wearable structure, a language the body remembers.
They resemble intestines, sea creatures. Not by metaphor, but by memory.
I embrace the image of the “intestine”:
because before our minds learned "I love you", our gut had already felt it.
The gut is a second brain. It senses before thought.
It knows longing and withdrawal.
I turned that knowledge, into a visible form,
a wearable structure, a language the body remembers.
This relationship becomes tangible.
No longer just endured — but seen, held, redefined.
This relationship becomes tangible.
No longer just endured — but seen, held, redefined.
La relation devient tangible.
Elle ne se subit plus :
on la voit, on la touche,
on la redéfinit.
Relationshape is an emotion, a diagram of the self,
a folded space, a tension in motion.
Relationshape is an emotion, a diagram of the self,
a folded space, a tension in motion.
Relationshape is an emotion, a diagram of the self,
a folded space, a tension in motion.