I wake each morning to an earth that feels both familiar and impossibly distant, days folding into one another like fog — soft, grey, without contour.
Something within me has changed. It cannot be named; it does not announce itself with confidence. It wakes me in the middle of the night — not with fear, but with a strange, burning aliveness. A hand on my shoulder, ordering me to “Get up.”
Something within me has not yet bloomed — something ancient, bright, and waiting. Patiently waiting to be given shape and form. I sense a part of me destined for greatness, like a tree growing toward the light, even when no one is watching.
I’m ready to stop hovering above the ground. It is time to descend — to fall, not into despair, but into form. We are thrown into this world; some of us drift for years, uncomfortable with the dizziness of possibility — a breadth without handrails.
Let me fall. Let me fail. Give me the courage to come down — not as collapse, but as arrival, into this trembling, unchiselled shape of the life I haven’t yet lived. Become who you are.
