The Threshold of Waking

The first light finds the room like a secret keeper, touching corners no one asked it to find. The world is still yours alone—breath and heartbeat, the soft percussion of becoming.

A bird's note breaks the spell, but gently, as if asking permission to exist. You lie suspended between two kingdoms: the one you're leaving, the one waiting at the window.

Your hands remember themselves. Fingers flex like new leaves, curious about air, about weight, about the strangeness of being. The blanket is still warm with the dream you're forgetting.

Soon the day will demand you. But not yet. Not yet. In this moment, you are both the sleeping and the waking, the darkness learning to hold light.