You are larger than everything in it.
Larger than the sentence you wrote at nineteen. Larger than the verdict the internal court rendered on insufficient evidence. Larger than the ghost who has been warning you since you were sixteen. Larger than the debt you have been paying into a fictitious account. Larger than the skin you grew to protect something that no longer needs protecting. Larger than the simplified satellite-view story you have been telling yourself about who you are and what is possible for you.
The room has limits. You do not.
…You have been ready for longer than you know.
Walk in.
“Not transformation. Return. To the self that existed before the sentence was written. That person was never gone. They were waiting.”
