Echos of Insight

Wren was a girl with a calendar heart

who earned every door that she walked through.

She wore her ambition like a hand-me-down coat,

kept it buttoned up high so the ache wouldn’t show.

She drifted through classrooms like fog through a screen,

memorized rules but forgot how to dream.

They measured her worth by how well she conformed,

but she always felt weathered in a world built for storms.

She moved like a plan with no pause in the middle,

mistook being good for being whole.

They said she was golden—

but gold doesn’t bend.

She built a whole life

that looked just like the end.

And the fog rolled in

when the lights got too loud.

She disappeared slow

in a soft little cloud.

It started with pain in the back of her jaw,

then a shot in the arm, then a phone call: “She’s gone.”

So she found something velvet,

something that hushed—

just a small kind of silence

when the world asked too much.

She called it her rhythm,

she called it her rest,

just a gentle delay

on the weight in her chest.

But time learned her name

and it whispered her back—

it said, “There’s no more room here for living like that.”

They said she was golden—

but gold doesn’t breathe.

She coated her life

in a soft little sheath.

And the fog rolled in

like a lover who knew

just how to hold her

and what to undo.

Turns out the girl who lived under my pen

wasn’t fiction at all, she was just hiding again.

I didn’t fall hard, I just floated too long.

The silence was cozy, the hush felt like home.

But I’m done with the curtain. I’m done with the grey.

I’m walking through mornings that call me by name.

They said I was golden—

and maybe they’re right.

But I traded the shimmer

for something with light.

The fog was a hallway,

a halfway cocoon—

but I found my own rhythm

in the shape of a room.

Maybe you’ve been her.

Maybe you’ve stayed.

But there’s breath on the other side

of the haze.