💌 Letters from the Rebuild #13

The Windchime, the Wound, and the Way Home

Two nights ago, I had a dream that undid me.

Not the good kind of dream where signs are soft and symbols are wrapped in fairy tale mist.

No.

This one? It tore the bandages off something old and raw—and then whispered:

“You’re still bleeding here.”

I dreamed I was at my grandparents’ house, except it wasn’t really their house—it was bigger, stranger, and fil…