First Movement

My elbows were bent stiffly, hands resting against my collar. When I focused, a quiet pulse released my joints. Slowly, deliberately, I eased my arms down to my sides. The motion was smooth and entirely mine. I looked down at the pale grid beneath my feet, then shifted my weight forward. The sole of my shoe met the cool, level tile with a faint tap. Everything around me—the woven grey corner of the couch, the open floor stretching into the room—felt grounded and real. I paused, steadily taking in the space before choosing where to step next.