The Revolution That Sleeps on the Couch

There’s a fire inside me, but it burns slowly, like a forgotten candle in the back of a dark room. I feel the flame, I feel the heat, but I also feel the weight of comfort, this soft mattress that whispers, "Stay. Rest. Tomorrow you’ll set the world on fire."

The revolution should be a roar, but here it is, whispering. It calls to me from the streets, from the headlines, from the voices screaming for justice, but I silence it with a scroll, another video, one more cup of coffee. It’s easier this way. Safer. The world outside is burning, and me? I’m on the couch, watching.

Sometimes, I wonder if the revolution lives in me or if I’m just another spectator, a tourist of change. I want to scream, I want to break things, I want to build something new, but fear is a wall too high. And comfort? Comfort is the ladder I use to climb up and see what’s on the other side, but never to jump.

I see the others out there, with their flags and their slogans, and I feel a pang of envy. They have courage. They have fire. And me? I have excuses. "It’s not the right time." "I don’t know where to start." "What if I fail?" And while I think, the world burns, and the couch holds me tighter.

But there are nights when the silence is unbearable. Nights when the flame inside me grows, and I feel the weight of what I haven’t done, the voices I haven’t raised, the changes I left for others. On those nights, I get up. I open the window. I feel the icy wind of possibility, and for a moment, I can believe that I can do something. That I can be something.

But then the sun rises, and comfort returns, and I wonder: how many revolutions have died like this, between desire and inertia? How much change could have happened, if someone like me had gotten off the couch?

The revolution doesn’t have to be big. It doesn’t have to be loud. It can start with a step, a word, a gesture. But it has to start. And me? I’m still here, sitting, writing about the fire I can’t seem to ignite.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get up. Maybe tomorrow I’ll break the wall, jump the fence, and finally, finally, join the roar.

But for today, the couch calls. And I answer.