6 a.m.s
My mind takes the fourth lap around the same thought, over and over again.
Yet somehow, in a very peculiar, unfamiliar, numinous tethered way, it stops spiraling —
which is strange, really — a kind of stillness where I’m grounded.
If the well breaks and the water surges out,
and I’m left with bits and pieces of myself
that I had harnessed around your mere existence,
just because your soul was tangled with mine —
my 6 a.m.s will always belong to you.
Your voice — one I may have never heard —
unknowingly became my sepulchral favourite sound.
And if it ever fades from my mind,
a pre-written draft of the first chapter in a book
will echo quietly in its place.
And the mountains that once promised lachrymose sweet nothings
will turn to dust
and barren ashes.
My past fades into the horizon,
as the words you say fade from blue to yellow.
The biggest shock that spirals through my spine
is how every bad anticipation I see coming — never does.
My chains from my past don’t rattle anymore.
And for once,
I feel at peace.
Hi there!
I just started reading your story Wounded Souls, and it completely captured my heart. Every scene is written so beautifully that it felt magical especially the way you explore deep emotional wounds, healing, and the raw pain and hope that comes with connection and redemption. Your writing pulled me in and made every moment feel powerful and meaningful. I’d love to share it with a few friends who would appreciate it just as much. Can’t wait to see more of your amazing work! You can also find me on Instagram: @lizziedoesitall.
Thank you for creating such a heartfelt story!