Morning Threshold

Between the alarm and the first breath, a name surfaces like something pulled from dark water— is it mine or the world's?

The half-light holds its neutral ground. No promises yet. No demands. Just the body's slow remembering that gravity exists, that bone knows weight, that the voice when it comes will be yours.

Outside, the birds have already forgotten what they needed to say. A leaf turns. Traffic starts its daily argument. But here, in the pause before reaching for the phone, there is a kingdom of untouched hours.

This is the only honest moment— when you haven't yet become the person the day will require. When the old self hasn't left and the new one hasn't arrived.