CENTER OF MY OWN UNIVERSE

The man-made world stretches before me,

a labyrinth of systems and structures—

fragile, fleeting, yet clinging to permanence.

A game of power, endless and hollow.

I watch them scatter,

chasing illusions, gripping tightly to their slumber.

Their ignorant bliss.

No matter what, they refuse to wake.

I wonder—

Am I the only one dreaming while the world sleeps?

Or am I the only one awake in a world lost in its dream?

I am tired of pretending,

tired of folding myself to fit into lines they have drawn.

Their rules, their expectations—

I was never made for them.

I was never meant to kneel before their cages

or shrink myself to fit their frame.

Perhaps it is time.

Time to birth a new world,

my world.

One woven from the threads of my own creation,

where I am everything and nothing,

where I am free.

Here, I am not bound by form or fate.

Here, I decide what I become,

who I am,

who I will be.

I am the center of my own cosmos,

a universe bending to the rhythm of my being.

Limitless. Infinite. Divine.

All I must do is be—

and believe.

But still, I feel the pull—

a whisper in the marrow of my soul.

A calling from somewhere beyond the veil.

I want to go back,

to return to the place where stars spoke my name,

where light danced in my veins,

where I was whole before I was ever human.

Home.

Wherever that may be.

XX, ID