An

You whispered in my dreams
A tongue so ancient
Words etched in feelings
Punctuated by desires

I couldn’t understand

You couldn’t either
Woke up in a strange new world
Alone
Afraid
Confused

You saw fragments of you
In me
In us
Images sparked with recognition
But my eyes were closed
Busy caring too much
Or maybe not at all

Then I saw you
A myth ringing true
A sigh of relief
Unmistakable

I know
You were always there.
I want you to know that
I’m sorry
And
I love you
And
I’m here.

I won’t leave you.

You can sleep now.

安

Exegesis#

I found a missing piece of myself. An ancient voice that had no words. It tried to talk the only way it knew. I finally listened. Now we’re at peace; ān.

安¹ (ān). Peace. Calm. Safe. Woman under roof. Femininity, vulnerability, seeking shelter. The gentle release of sleep.

An is the reptile. The old brain. She seeks safety, comfort, contentment. 安. But she can only speak in the old tongue- fear, hunger, lust.

I had found the name before I learned the meaning. It is synchronicity: the id sighs, a single syllable — An — relief. Rest.

I finally understand.

Silence crackles. The reptile blinks slowly, her own glowing image reflecting in her eyes, her name echoing in her ears. An old, new sensation permeates her worn scales. Her weary body slowly coils, eyes closing, and she yawns, then sighs, then finally drifts asleep— becoming sleep itself…