Air

I wake—

the air is mine,

not borrowed,

not bartered,

not heavy with echoes.

Light writes itself on the wall,

no longer bending

to soothe shadows not its own.

Silence: velvet, not void.

Coffee pours without witness.

Breath moves

without being measured.

Thoughts arrive

unannounced.

I walk into the space

once crowded with mirrors,

with doubt,

with noise.

Now there is ground.

The body returns—

loyal, untamed,

mud-streaked but faithful.

Each day opens unfootnoted.

I scrawl in margins,

blur the ink.

The world no longer asks me to shrink.

a low song rises,

as if guiding flowers

into their appointed lines.

There is room here.

And in that room:

light.

breath

.a self—

not lost,

only waiting.