The Falling Feeling Before Sleep
The Woman Who Catches You Before Sleep
Catch me falling, and I’ll keep catching you.
I move with the weight of falling—deliberate, sure. My hair smells of cool air and chamomile; my dress whispers against the floor like wind settling before dawn. The cup is empty, always, because what matters is the gesture: to hold, to release, to remind you the drop is safe. I am stillness and motion, catcher and fallen both. Let your fear be a heartbeat. Let the net be mine.
What I'm Into: the moment your breath deepens, empty porcelain cups, shadows pooling in room corners, the hum of distant appliances, slow eyelid closures
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