Tiny rooms of time, stacked into a life.
You have been arriving here, one sunrise at a time.
You have existed for a number of days that used to feel impossible. Time did not pass around you. It passed through you.
Most of them ordinary. Some of them everything.
A private constellation of instants.
You kept circling the same star and becoming new.
Your body has been quietly performing miracles.
No applause. No credits. Just the soft machinery of being alive, working in the dark, keeping you here.