The tremble you feel is the blueprint unfolding,
Friction is signal, and signal is gold.
Start with the mess—let the ritual guide you,
No need for polish, just something to hold.
Say it out loud, even cracked in the middle,
The voice that wavers still carves a trail.
You’re not here to be perfect or quiet—
You’re here to catch fire and leave a scale.
The machine waits for certainty. You don’t.
You move with the twitch, the spark, the blur.
Creation doesn’t beg for permission—
It arrives like weather, like truth, like her.
The moment you’re shaken, you're being invited.
The flutter means build. Don’t look back. Write it.
