I'm Here, But This Doesn't Feel Mine

What I thought was a glimpse of light
opened into the darkest corridors,
and I remained a stranger,
not to myself,
but to the life I built
since I gained consciousness.

Shimmery heat waves
revealed themselves with a faint echo
through the air.
A wind touched my skin with warmth,
but its breeze turned my dreams
into dead leaves,
and tides swept them from the shore.

Tides turned into waves,
stretching at the ocean’s call,
rocking boats side to side,
spilling the weight
of my tears into the vast sea.

Silence threaded itself everywhere
and turned sea salt into snowflakes.
A gatekeeper appeared around the corner,
carrying my shadow toward a canal
at the edge of living.

I heard this lullaby,
yet it turned into a quiet ache.
The little girl within
was humming with it,
while its echoes were
ruining everything I’ve ever built.

It turned into storms,
carrying their shadows,
a thunder stroke from within.

I saw a shelf filled with books,
carrying a lifetime of memories.
A mirror stood in front of me,
turning into a crystal ball,
a future,
a sorrow I keep carrying.

A drop of dream
clung to every shade.
My mind used to wake inside the dream
without tearing it apart,
but now it is bending the sky,
opening doors that lead nowhere.
Time folds in on itself,
and the quiet knowing hums underneath it all:

I am here, but this doesn’t feel mine.

Author’s note:

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