I am unmoored.
I drift through hours like wreckage,
not sinking, not floating,
just suspended in the ache of becoming.
The sea does not rage,
it only waits,
and somehow that is worse.
My chest is a locked room
where breath knocks softly
and is never answered.
Thoughts bruise me on their way through,
memories cut without edges,
and feeling arrives already exhausted.
I keep listening for metal on stone,
for the sound of an anchor choosing me,
but the chain never falls.
Only silence,
heavy as water,
patient as grief.
Living hurts
not like a wound
but like standing too long in the cold,
where pain turns dull,
then everywhere,
then invisible.
Still,
I remain.
Not brave.
Not hopeful.
Just here,
a pulse stubborn enough
to keep time
until the sea remembers
how to let me rest.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 3:13 PM UTC
I am unmoored.
I drift through hours like wreckage,
not sinking, not floating,
just suspended in the ache of becoming.
The sea does not rage,
it only waits,
and somehow that is worse.
My chest is a locked room
where breath knocks softly
and is never answered.
Thoughts bruise me on their way through,
memories cut without edges,
and feeling arrives already exhausted.
I keep listening for metal on stone,
for the sound of an anchor choosing me,
but the chain never falls.
Only silence,
heavy as water,
patient as grief.
Living hurts
not like a wound
but like standing too long in the cold,
where pain turns dull,
then everywhere,
then invisible.
Still,
I remain.
Not brave.
Not hopeful.
Just here,
a pulse stubborn enough
to keep time
until the sea remembers
how to let me rest.