The Threshold

Light doesn't arrive all at once— it spills through cracks, hesitates, learns the shape of stone before claiming the room.

You know this pause. The moment before answering, before the door opens, before the word finds its voice.

In that suspension, everything could go either way. The breath holds. The heart suspends. Even silence has edges.

Then: sound, movement, light— the threshold crossed, the room transformed. But something remains in that narrow place we've already left.