WAKING TO THE WEIGHT OF WATER

I woke to a silence that didn’t feel honest, 
a hush carrying its own uneasy pulse. 
Before my thoughts could catch up,
cold climbed my ankles,
slow and deliberate,
as if it had been waiting for me.
The floor answered my step with a shiver,
a soft gasp rising through the floor. 
Morning light hadn’t even reached the hallway,
yet water had already claimed the day.

The air felt swollen,
heavy with dampness
that settled in my throat and stayed. 
A scent of wet plaster
drifted through the house,
the kind of smell,
that announces trouble the moment it arrived.
My toes made small ripples with every movement. 
Circles widening like quiet warnings of doom.
The house echoed back in soft, damp murmurs,
as if trying to confess what had just happened. 

Somewhere above me, water found its path, 
slipping through beams, seams, and every weakness. 
The ceiling sagged, swollen and trembling,
pulsing like a heartbeat I could not calm.
Not just a single droplet.
Then another.
Then a steady rhythm.
Like a clock I never wanted marking time. 

Instinct pushed me toward towels and a mop,
even though I knew they would not matter. 
Water kept moving, patient and certain,
curling under doorways,
slipping around furniture,
claiming space without asking permission. 

The morning felt fragile, like something might break
if I breathed too hard or made any kind of noise.
I stood barefoot in the puddles,
trying to gather myself before the day could begin. 

A low mechanical growl rose in the distance,
then the knock on my door. 
then the restoration crew.
Confirmation that this was not a nightmare
but a new reality of humming fans and humidifiers.
Boots stepped into my home with careful weight, 
meters beeped like anxious little heartbeats.
They peeled back walls to show what water had taken, 
floors and furniture soaked through,
rooms revealing heartbreak I had not imagined. 

By dusk, the weight of everything settled,
My stress levels rose,
like pounding waves,
keep pulling me off center.
Replaying every drip, every crack,
every moment in endless loops,
reminding me how quickly life can shift
from comfort and peace to disastrous chaos. 

Sleep stayed far from me,
night stretched long and restless. 
My mind kept circling back to that morning,
to the cold,
to the ceiling,
to the helplessness
of watching my home 
become something else. 

And then,
before I knew it,
another morning again,
another battle waiting. 

I woke only to replay the day before,
the same damp heaviness in the air, 
the same hum of machines chewing through the silence,
the same scent of wet plaster lingering everywhere. 

More water,
more repairs, 
more quiet worry, 
more unsettled thoughts. 

Another day of calls, adjusters, and estimates,
strangers walking through the private corners of my life.  

Another day of ceilings that might open,
walls that might hide more stories of ruin. 

Another day of trying to stay upright,
while the house around me feels unsteady.  

Another night of searching for sleep,
while my home whispers its pain. 

Another day living a nightmare,
that seems to never end,

As I step into my home,
since there’s no other choice
but to keep going
and move forward.
Each thought
brings more questions,
providing fewer answers. 

Then,
as if in harmony,
more agony,
more angina,
more heartache,
more mental anguish.
more disrupted habits,
more scrambled routines, 
more mental exhaustion.  

The quiet kind,
that settles deep,
leaving a shadow
and refuses to leave,
like an unwanted guest.