Dreaming in the Ether

not as a warmth,

but as a dark figure standing quietly

in the doorway of my life,

its shadow reaching the room

before its body did.

It didn’t ask permission.

It simply observed

the way a judge observes,

the way a dream observes

while you pretend you’re awake.

I felt it studying the trembling corners

of my thoughts,

sorting them like fragile evidence:

every hope,

every fear,

every moment I tried to bury

under polite smiles.

Its presence grew heavier

by the hour,

an invisible weight draped

over my shoulders

like a promise

I never agreed to make.

Sometimes it spoke softly,

as if afraid of breaking me

you are mine in ways

you don’t yet understand.

Other times

it said nothing at all,

and its silence

was a maze

I wandered in circles,

searching for the exit

that looked too much like destiny.

Love, I learned,

is not always a flame.

Sometimes

it is a door that closes gently,

so gently

you don’t hear the lock

until you’re already inside.

And yet

in the dimness,

in the strange captivity

of being truly seen

I found a truth

that frightened and freed me:

even the darkest love

is still a light,

just one bright enough

to expose

every shadow