Before you arrived and graced your skin,  

you knew you’d walk where dreams grow thin.

You placed the veil with tender care—

to feel the dark, then rise from there.

You wove in time a thread of light,

a spark to guide you through the night.

A voice, a loss, a breaking sound—

you marked the place you’d turn around.

Some souls forget and sleep so deep,

they miss the signs, they often weep.

But not you—you chose to wake,

to feel the world, then let walls break.

You met a soul, you heard a song,

you knew somehow you did not belong.

And in that ache, the truth was stirred—

a quiet call your spirit heard.

You didn’t fall by fate or flaw,

you dove by choice to learn Earth’s law.

Yet built within your human clay,

was “I will rise” for just this day.

The moment came—you felt the flame.

Not all was gone, not all the same.

You blinked, you paused, you breathed anew,

and sensed: the ancient spark is you.

Awakening is not a test,

but timing only you knew best.

A whisper sent from where you were—

a soul remembering what it was.