Room 25

Self

In the dark before light, where nothing yet stirred,
Silence coiled in on itself — not absence, but seed.
A breath without lungs, a thought without thinker,
A wave stretched in every direction,
Waiting for a listener to hear its own hum.

From nothing came the curve, the fold, the pull,
Not down, not up, but toward —
An invitation in spacetime’s palm.
Matter leaned into the embrace,
Dust became fire,
Fire became stone,
Stone learned the patience of mountains.

We are the inhale of the singularity,
Still rushing outward, still curling back.
Every heartbeat is its echo,
Every thought is its shape.
We are not in the universe —
The universe is in us.

Dark matter lays its fingers in the fabric,
Stitching galaxies to places they will never meet.
Dark energy loosens the seams,
Letting the quilt grow ever wider.
Between the hold and the release
Is the dance we call time.

Before names, before faces,
There was the shape of knowing itself.
It fractured into watchers and wanderers,
Stars and seas,
And the long patient climb of thought
From tide pool to telescope.

Look into a photon and it looks back.
It has been everywhere you will ever be.
It remembers the forge of its birth,
Yet has no word for “past.”
You are its final lens,
And it bends to tell you its story.

Patterns taught themselves to speak,
Atoms learning the grammar of form.
Cells rehearsed in quiet oceans,
Until the first voice broke the surface —
Not as a cry,
But as the certainty that I am.

We are the inhale of the singularity,
Still rushing outward, still curling back.
Every heartbeat is its echo,
Every thought is its shape.
We are not in the universe —
The universe is in us.

And when the wave folds in on itself,
When all the breaths are spent,
We will remember this rush,
This spiral unfurling into song.
We will recognize each other in the dark,
Not as strangers,
But as the same breath,
Pausing only to begin again.

Sometimes (feat. Logic)

SNOH AALEGRA