Soft Mirrors: I See Above

I see the sun — right above my head — like truth burning through the noise. For a moment, everything stands still. Everything stands clear.

But then — they come. People, memories, ghosts of what was. They speak in half-truths, echoes of mistakes, reminders of wrong turns I already know by heart.

Some of it’s right. Some of it still won’t make sense. And I’m standing here in the middle — with this shivering energy running through my spine, like lightning with no sky to strike.

It spills out, into my hands, into my body, into the room around me — and I can’t command it.

I know what’s real. I know what’s story. But knowing doesn’t mean control. Knowing doesn’t stop the echo.

And I’m tired. Tired of arguing with shadows, of sorting truth from memory, fact from fever dream.

Yet — even now — even with the tremor still beneath my skin — I see above.

There’s something higher than the noise. A place where the sun doesn’t blind, it just reminds.

And I breathe. I breathe — and for that breath, I am enough.