Some dreams don’t come to shatter you.

They come to show you what you almost forgot.

They come quiet.

They come soft.

And they stay.

The night before the eclipse,

I dreamed of the ones who loved me without needing to hold me.

The ones who saw me without asking me to disappear.

I almost missed the weight of it.

I almost called it nothing.

But it was already rewriting me,

tucking a knowing back into my bones:

You were seen. You were loved. You have always been enough.

Before the tearing came,

before the unraveling,

this was the first door I walked through.

This is where the remembering began.