Arms open like memory made real—a shape carved for unraveling, a cradle stitched from stillness.
The fall comes heavy, full of ache and seawater, a wave folding into shore, trembling, half-remembered.
Warmth wraps slow, steady—a shelter with breath and heartbeat.
A place that holds the ruin without asking for the storm.
Cedar drifts through the air, tangled with quilt-thread and earth. Weight rests between shoulders—a silent axis in a world that spins too sharply. Fingers anchor against the mind, soft against the place where sorrow lives longing.
Walls, once braced, begin to loosen.
Tears fall into cotton. The body uncoils, weakness absent—a grace born from the quiet permission to fracture.
Within the holding—a memory of wholeness. A map written in warmth,
traced in silence, leading inward.
This was never just a hug.
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This is lovely, both bittersweet and hopeful.
A wave folding onto the shore. 😍😱✨✨✨