At the fringe of morning, a quiet resonance
trembles through the curtains like a soft frill of light.
My thoughts spin—not wild, just turning—
as if I’m swimming through half-dream images
that almost fit, then don’t.
Tea in the cup, and time in my hands.
A tiny spill on the saucer becomes a map,
a small trip across porcelain continents.
I reflect on it all—
how every day adds a layer,
how some moments stay lingering
like salt on skin after the sea.
And there I am again—
on the edge, in the ripple,
letting the world turn me gently
until I remember my own tide.

💫Maggie

The Afterlove Voice 💫