You, Remembering

There are moments that do not unfold.

They do not announce themselves.

They settle, already formed, beneath sound—like breath that never left.

Nothing begins, and still, something turns inward. Not as a choice. As gravity from within.

No seeking. No crossing.

Only the quiet center—felt but not touched.

The mind does not reach it. It doesn’t shimmer or ask to be known. It holds.

A sanctuary not built, but remembered. You are already in it.

Time does not move here. Nor do you.

You are not behind. You are not waiting. You are already known. This is not the beginning.

This is where the beginning remembers you.