The Ones I Never Had

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.