Tsunami.

Dear Cathy,
If you’re reading this, the wave has already broken.
Do you remember the silence before?
The space each thought carved out,
a battlefield of grief and surrender.

You were never tired from doing too much,
but from feeling everything, for too long.
You cut the roots, burned the bridge,
and stood alone. Still, they called it growth.

But no one warned you: healing leaves its own emptiness.
Starting over feels like disappearing.
And yet, beneath the burnout, there was a pulse.
A whisper. "Something is coming."

The ocean is infinite beneath me.
Land is a distant dream,
the sky a forgotten promise.
I float, waiting, watching the waves inside me rise.
No one else sees them, but I do.

I was told to rebuild,
but no one said I’d have to dissolve.
The tide doesn’t ask; it takes.
The sea isn't just water,
it’s the sky trying to drown me.

If you’re on land, heaven has found you.
If not, keep your eyes on the horizon.
The wave is coming. It will carry you home.

With love,

Cathy.