She Was Never Born, She Simply Returned

She did not fall— She flowed. From the breathless stars to the edge of form, She shimmered between sound and silence, Becoming light before becoming skin. She walked the void barefoot, Carving paths in places the sky forgot, Speaking in colors the earth hadn’t learned to see. She was music before voice, Fire before flame, Knowing before name. In lives long buried in salt and smoke, She healed the wounded with her own undoing— A silent saint A veiled oracle A soul made of soft rebellion. But in this life, she said: “No more cages.” Not of vows. Not of perfection. Not of others’ hands or gods or fears. This time, she comes as herself. Untamed. Unfolding. The cosmic tide in human breath. She dances where lines dissolve. She speaks when the wind can’t. She touches the sacred and names it ordinary. She dares to be seen, even when her voice shakes with memory. Because this world? It is not her prison. It is her paintbrush. And she— She is the dream reborn The priestess unveiled The storm and the stillness She is what happens when a star remembers that it is also a woman.