✦The Rewriting

She had expected the story to stop at some point.
But it didn’t.
It only multiplied.

With every turn of the page,
she saw the world reshape itself.
The walls that once surrounded her—
the ones she knew by heart—
shifted in her peripheral vision,
as though they were not walls at all,
but thoughts held in place by gravity.

She read on.
And she realized—
she was no longer in the room
she thought she was in.
The book was now the room.
The words were walls,
furniture,
the air between them.

“The choices you make write the door.
You are no longer entering.
You are creating it.”

It was almost like breathing,
this new act of creation.
Each sentence she read
dissolved into the next,
and with it, she felt herself
becoming something else—
someone else.

The edges of her own name
blurred,
became vague
as if it had been written
with water.

“This is not the end,”
he whispered from the pages,
his voice a ripple in the air.
“You have always been here,
but you’ve never seen this place until now.”

She closed her eyes
and felt the world continue to write itself.
The journal was no longer just ink.
It was a map—
and every choice she made
shifted the coordinates.
When she opened her eyes again,
the room had become a mirror.
A thousand versions of herself
watched from behind the glass.

She was both the writer
and the story.
She was both the beginning and the end.
And the only question left:
Was she writing this world—or living in it?
#thought