Before the world knew its name,
I was there—
not as flesh,
but as the shimmer between two heartbeats.

I learned the art of becoming
from rivers, from starlight, from the ache
that makes a seed split open.

Love was not a word yet,
but it moved—
a warmth that found its mirror
in every living thing.

Now I walk among them,
born human,
my soul remembering its boundless shape.

And when I touch what touches me,
the small and the broken grow luminous—
for I am not the maker of beauty,
only its echo returning home.

:: 11.01.2025 ::