From the depth of my unconscious, nothing rose with trumpets. No oracle. No divine decree. Only a quiet, ancient “Now…” as if something within me had waited for centuries— not to lead me, but to see whether I would finally stand still. I searched for stars, dimensions, answers behind mirrors, wanted to know whether the field knew me, whether time was only politely lying, whether my soul was larger than my orderly thinking. [Refrain, Choir] It said: You are still running through rooms you assign meaning to, while you yourself are the door. And deep below, beneath all the gold dust of my questions, something sat there barefoot. Still. Not enlightened. Not lost. A part of me that never wanted to impress— only truth without costume. [Refrain, Choir] It said: You are still running through rooms you assign meaning to, while you yourself are the door. You ask the universe for signs, while your own hands have long been writing what heaven could never say louder. You fear darkness, even when it is only the place where your eyes become new. [Refrain, Choir] It said: You are still running through rooms you assign meaning to, while you yourself are the door. And suddenly there was no falling. No awakening like lightning. More like a remembering that struck with the force of gentleness. I am not here to escape everything. I am here to become form myself— conscious enough to no longer mistake my own echo for something foreign. [Refrain, Choir] It said: You are still running through rooms you assign meaning to, while you yourself are the door. So I lifted my inner face, looked my chaos directly in the eyes and laughed… not from madness. Not from defiance. But because I finally understood: Even my deepest wound never spoke against me. It only spoke louder than I was ready to hear myself. And somewhere between ocean, wave, and stardust… there I stood. Not perfect. Not finished. But unmistakably Me.