Not a transformation — an alignment. Pieces sliding into a shape I don’t need to name yet. My body hums quietly, like it’s agreed to something my mind hasn’t caught up to.
I am not finished.
I am forming.
What was scattered gathers. What was loud softens. What was missing reveals itself as space — intentional, necessary, alive.
I don’t rush the ending. I don’t force clarity. I let becoming take the time it asks for. Some things arrive slowly because they are meant to stay.
So I remain here — mid-breath, mid-motion, mid-knowing — trusting that what is unfinished is not broken.
Just becoming.
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