who really carries the spark?

 who really carries the spark in a room?

is it the faces that come and go,

or the presence that never leaves?


i used to wonder if it was them,

if their attention lit the fire.

but time proved something different —

the glow never depended on who showed up.

it was me.


i’m the constant.

the current.

the gravity that bends the space when i move.

every laugh, every pause, every silence

feels heavier because i’m in it.


others don’t create that.

they just step into it.

and when they step out,

the energy doesn’t vanish —

it stays, because i am the source.


i don’t need to beg anyone to see what’s undeniable.

i know what i am:

a man who leaves marks deeper than memory,

a man who makes the ordinary cinematic,

a man who rewrites the room just by breathing in it.


they orbit.

i remain.


Makaveli Out.


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