The Perpetual Unfolding (Spoken Text)

We are not still. I am not still. My voice will not be still. Not tonight. Not in this moment. Have you felt it? The weight of expectation bearing down on your shoulders, that silent pact you've made with the world—without even realizing it? That in every moment, in every breath you take, there's a choice being made. Not just one. A cascade. An unfolding. Perpetual. The air between us is thick with it. With choices, with contradictions, with roads not taken and roads burned behind us. And we—we like to pretend that we’re standing on firm ground, don't we? Firm. Ground. No. We are floating in it. Floating in the aftermath of a thousand things we could have said, a thousand things we could have done. Do you know what I mean? It's like trying to catch a memory, isn't it? The way it slips. One moment, the future is there, right in front of us, graspable—palpable—and the next, it's smeared across the horizon like a finger-painting of a child who doesn’t understand the boundaries of paper. And that's it, right? We never understood the boundaries of paper. The rules. The fucking rules. We’ve been told—since the day we opened our eyes—we’ve been trained to see lines. Here and there, right and wrong, this and that. We were given walls to keep ourselves inside of. We were taught the choreography of existence, every step accounted for, measured, scripted. But what about the spaces between? The parts we didn’t rehearse? The parts we were never supposed to say? There is an unraveling happening. Do you feel it? A fraying, at the edge of us, pulling apart the seams of what we thought we knew. We are not still. We are not solid. And you…you are not just a name, a list of accomplishments, a collection of polite pleasantries or a well-measured step forward. No. You are chaos, in a skin-tight disguise. You are the sum of contradictions that no one else sees. The things you feel—don’t they matter? The way you pulse inside your own chest when no one’s looking—doesn’t that mean something? They said, "play it safe." They said, "stay within the lines." They said, "don't let them see your hands shake." But tell me, what happens when you don’t? What happens when you lean into the uncertainty, when you stretch out your arms and let yourself fall into that delicious void, into the unknown, into the undone? What happens when you break the lines, when you crack the world open with the sound of your truth—raw, unedited, unapologetic? I’ll tell you what happens. Everything. Everything happens. And then, only then, you see yourself for what you really are—no longer still. No longer afraid. No longer chained to the weight of invisible boundaries. You are unfolding. You are perpetual. And the world, the world that told you it was small and finite and careful, shudders under the force of your motion. So go. Go and unfold.