my story

i wake with a similar pain,
an aching jolt that reminds me
the world will not be kind
for free.

the page feels heavy,
the ink as tired as i am-
like each word has to drag itself
out of a pit.

a soft breeze accompanies me,
flipping the pages with ease
as i stand by and watch,
astonished by the feat.

once it settles,
i place my hand on the next line
and feel the weight shift,
feel the story pulse beneath my palm-
steady and warm
like a heartbeat i had forgotten was mine.

the breeze returns once more,
and this time,
it wraps around my hand,
lingering, patient,
sitting with me as i begin the next chapter
in a story i have ignored for too long.

and so,
with the page open
and the air on my side,
i begin my story.