Let the Stain Speak

I dreamed of a woman, a scientist, I’d seen before on a screen.

Unstable. Frenetic. Beautiful in a way that made my nervous system ache.
I was trying to contain her. Protect her from unraveling. Protect us from what her unraveling might trigger.

The floor was bleeding.
Not literally—but in the way dreams show you what language can't yet hold.
And it wasn’t just any house—it was that house. The one my body still remembers. The one whose floorboards held too many secrets. The one I haven’t stepped into in years, but somehow, my psyche never really left.

A dark stain seeped up from beneath the boards. Spreading. Quiet. Unignorable.
When someone asked about it, I deflected.
"It's nothing," I said.
But I knew it was everything.