Movement

Movement begins before the first step. It stirs in silence. It pulses in the undercurrent of thought before it becomes action, long before the limbs comply. It is the breath dragging itself awake from sleep, the slow return to sensation, and then—sudden—everything shifts. The world tilts. Gravity remembers its grip.

There is thunder in blood. Veins hum with the low frequency of becoming. Fingers stretch not just to reach, but to remember. Movement is not from one place to another. It is the collapsing of boundaries, the dismissal of stasis, the rejection of barricades built by things once dead. The day doesn’t begin with the sun. It begins with the eyes opening.

You flick the switch in the dark, and the light agrees to exist. Dust pirouettes midair, unnoticed until illuminated. Shadows stretch, recoil, change allegiance. The body, half-forgotten in dreams, returns—rusted joints and aching breath. But it rises. Stillness had its moment, pliable and hollow. Now the machinery of the soul grinds forward with momentum chiseled from loss and repetition.

Witness the arc of a falling leaf, the shiver of skin beneath cold water, the quake in your knees after standing too fast. These small rebellions against entropy declare: nothing will be still forever. Movement is the refusal to surrender. It is defiance clothed as rhythm.

It does not care for elegance. It bruises. It breaks. But always, it reforms. Muscle heals stronger than before. The psyche learns to reroute through trauma, finding light through new neural corridors. Progress, sometimes, looks like chaos. The dance of atoms within skin is frantic and brilliant—a blur of becoming.

And it spreads. Thoughts scatter like birds in panic. One idea leads to another until the mind is no longer the same. Evolution is motion. Time does not pass; it moves through you. You change it as much as it pushes you forward.

You are not a fixed point. You are a trembling line that folds and doubles back, that sharpens, that spirals out of predictability. You are not just alive. You are in motion, indefinable because you cannot stay the same.

What you are is what moves.