I woke to darkness
thick as doubt—
a silence pierced
by the thunder
pounding in my skull.
Sweat soaked the sheets,
not from heat,
but from the panic
my body whispered
without words.

A pulse behind my eye,
pressure blooming
like something about to burst—
the kind of pain
that makes you count
each breath
just to be sure
it’s still there.
My hands, foreign.
My chest, tight.
A thousand thoughts,
none of them kind.

I lay still,
afraid to move
in case movement
meant goodbye.
But it passed.
Not the worst.
Not that.

Still, it left a bruise
on the edges of my peace—
a discomforting echo
that I am not immune
to the clocks
that stop mid-tick.
I wish God
would only speak through
sunrise or birdsong
instead of fear.
But would I listen
without the ache?
Would I slow down
without the scream?

It’s strange—
how the cold realization
that one day
I won’t wake at all
has sparked a new way
to open my eyes.

I’m not promised forever.
Not on Earth, anyway.
I’m promised a relocation.
That thought alone has 
me seeking a new life.
A new beginning.
So I go,
like it might be
the start
instead of the end.