Before Dawn

October 22, 2025

I awoke before dawn

with grief

leaking out of my eyes.

The reality of being unmet

in my most desperate need

hit me with new gravity.

I wept for the woman I was—

the one who felt she

had found her second home,

a place where safety was promised,

where warmth and familiarity lived,

and arms that held her tight,

like she was a cherished gift.

I didn’t cry for him.

I cried for all the things she lost.

And she cried because there is

no way to ever go back to what was.

Two of the sweet dogs have since died—

their small souls gone quiet,

their loyalty now only memory.

And the man she thought she knew,

the one she loved deeply

and believed was her friend,

died too

when the curtain of his performance fell.

The tears didn’t last long.

Just the remaining bits of sadness and grief

for a chapter that ran deep,

despite its length.

These are the last pages—

of a book I wish had never been written.