The Threshold

Morning arrives like a hand through silk, gentle and insistent— the dream dissolves before you can catch its name.

You hover in the drowsy between, neither here nor dissolved into elsewhere, where logic bends like honey and time forgets its meter.

The world reassembles itself: a wall becomes a wall again, the ceiling settles into geometry, gravity remembers its law.

But for one breath, two heartbeats, you held the impossible— the weight of dreams and the solidity of waking in your palm at once.