Some mornings, the ceiling gains density A pale, persistent astronomy pressed upon my chest I count the cracks like constellations Mapping a sky I'm too tired to navigate This body has become a careful echo Repeating motions etched in silent film I brush my teeth with the ghost of purpose Dress myself in the fabric of routine A costume wearing thinner than dawn And the world outside moves in pleasant rhythms A symphony I hear through thick, stained glass I press my palms against the transparent barrier No sound, just the vibration of elsewhere I don't want a new life, I want a new physics A law where exhaustion has escape velocity To shed this orbit of familiar ache To let the tethers of expectation snap like old string Not a journey, but an atmospheric exit A slow, majestic unraveling from the axis of the known To be neither here nor there, but in the becoming In the glorious, weightless fracture between Conversations have turned into sonar pings Bouncing off my hull, returning hollow data I nod at appropriate intervals A convincing algorithm of presence Meanwhile, a quiet riot brews in my marrow A migration of self toward some internal pole I am curating a museum of untouched dreams Dusting frames of landscapes I've never seen While my own reflection fogs the glass I've grown fluent in the dialect of fatigue Written treatises on the architecture of stillness My willpower, a dial turned to a frequency Only static answers, in a language of gray I don't want a new life, I want a new physics A law where exhaustion has escape velocity To shed this orbit of familiar ache To let the tethers of expectation snap like old string Not a journey, but an atmospheric exit A slow, majestic unraveling from the axis of the known To be neither here nor there, but in the becoming In the glorious, weightless fracture between If change is a door, then I am the wall it's set in Solid, seemingly permanent, bearing the weight of structure But even walls contain particles in constant, desperate vibration Dreaming of being mortar no more Of being sand again, scattered by a wild, untamed wind To remake myself into a dune on a foreign shore Or the curve of a canyon that remembers only erosion and sky So let the momentum of sameness dissipate Let the film reel of today finally jam and burn I am not running away I am conducting a quiet coup d'état Against the regime of my own endurance The rebellion is a whisper, a slow leak of light I am preparing the ground For a different kind of gravity One that pulls, not down But outward