Fetal Perspective

Prologue

I am nothing, and yet, I am drawn—an urge, a rush, a race. I exist in pure motion, a whisper of life, neither thought nor form, only purpose. I travel through darkness, pulled by something ancient, as if the very world were breathing me forward.

Everything is warm here, fluid, vast, though I am small beyond measure. I am no more than a spark, yet I know—I am meant to join, to complete, to grow.

Then, in a single, blinding instant, I am whole.

It is like opening an eye, though I have no eyes to open. I am not one but two, the joining of halves to make something new. In that fusion, I feel an unfolding, a rhythm, a pulse that beats and beats, steady as an ocean tide. The world shifts, and I am held in it, swaddled in its depths.

Days slip by in silence, but I do not measure time. I drift in warmth, and somewhere beyond me is a gentle thrum—soft, like music played beneath the sea. It pulses in harmony with my own, the world breathing in and out, and I float inside it, wrapped in its song.

I do not think. I do not know. I only am.

And somewhere, deep within the tides of this quiet, dark sea, I begin to grow.