You Are the Room Where Light Arrives

The morning light hits the wall and you are frozen, hand hovering over the knob, convinced someone else is turning it from the other side. You hold your breath, waiting for the intrusion, waiting for the world to force its way in before you are ready to be seen.

But the seed grows all by itself, night and day, whether you are asleep or awake, whether you are ready or terrified. The light does not wait for your permission to rise; it simply shines, indifferent to the mask you are still trying to glue onto your face.

You are not the doorkeeper of your own soul; you are the room where the light has already arrived. The hand on the knob is just your own fear, shaking in the morning glare.