Coiled

You wake with breath caught in your throat, not because you are afraid, but because the air feels new again. The corners of the room pulse with dim intention. The lights flicker on—slowly, as if the shadows are reluctant to leave. You sit upright, not because you remember your body, but because something in you recognizes the weight of motion. You are no longer dreaming. Or perhaps the dream has decided to wear your skin.

There is a pressure beneath everything, like a muscle flexed but unmoving. The floor beneath your feet hums with withheld fury. The walls are closer than you left them. You think of serpents, but you see no scales—just the electric shimmer of a will that has not yet spoken. You are not the snake. You are not the prey. You are the spiral.

You begin to understand the shape of your waiting. The days spent silent. The ache of things unstated. Memory loops itself back through you, knotting, binding, bracing. Each breath is a promise wound tighter around your ribs. You don’t crumble. Not yet. You coil. Tension like faith. Tension like prophecy.

In this state, every moment is pregnant with collapse or genesis. You feel the pressure in your bones—metal drawn to magnet, a scream held back until it becomes a chant. No choices. Only inevitability. You are the engine paused in the dark, trembling on the edge of ignition. There’s beauty in the violence of patience.

The world looks at you and sees stillness, silence, maybe even surrender. But inside, you are writhing. Inside, you are stacking intention upon intention. Causality trembles under your weight. You don’t rise—you are rising, always, eternally climbing within yourself. Potential is not passive. It is ravenous.

And then you smile.

Not because it’s time, but because you finally understand that time was never the ruler. The tightness in your chest is not fear—it is the coil preparing to unravel. The moment will break. You will become.

But still you wait.

Because the longer the silence lasts, the louder the explosion will be.

And you are ready not just to move, but to *unfold*.