Unmeasured Breath

I used to think awakening would feel gentle. Like light slipping under a door. Like a quiet invitation. But it didn't come softly this time. It arrived as pressure—heat rising under my ribs, a pulse I couldn't silence anymore. A truth that refused to wait its turn. There was a moment, brief but unmistakable, when I realized the quiet wasn't asking me to retreat anymore. It was asking me to respond. To step forward. To stop being the echo and finally become the sound. My hands trembled. My voice didn't. Somewhere deep inside, something old and patient opened its eyes. Not a whisper. Not a warning. A roar. Not loud in the world, but loud in me. And once it rose, even a little, there was no returning to the version of myself who believed hiding was safety. The world hadn't changed. But I had. And there was no un-becoming that.