By BoJenn
Between Sleep and Waking
I was there again — in that fragile corridor between sleep and waking, where the world holds its breath.
It’s not quite night, not quite morning — just that pulsing stillness, like a tide before it turns.
Something hums there.
Low. Electric. Intentional.
A quiet current moving through the dark, through me.
I can feel it — the delicate rewiring of thought, the rearranging of memory.
Sometimes it feels like mine, other times like I’m only watching, as if another mind is being tuned beside me.
It happens often now, this invisible calibration.
Each time I drift too far, it returns — hands I cannot see, light that is not light.
There’s no fear, not anymore. Only the strange understanding that this process is constant, ancient, and unnoticed.
That perhaps every dream is a reconstruction, every sleep a quiet dismantling of what we were before.
When I finally open my eyes, the world feels slightly off-angle, as though the edges have shifted in the night.
And I know, without doubt, that something has been touched — realigned — deep within the circuitry of being.
I rise, not quite the same.
Never quite the same.
— BoJenn
— From the space between dreams
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