Between Bruises & Blooms

At four in the morning,

the bottles are washed,

the lullabies have faded,

and two tiny dreamers

have finally surrendered to sleep.

The house doesn’t belong to me.

It belongs to silence.

Honey climbs into my lap

like she’s been waiting

for this exact moment—

kneading away the weight

of another long night,

her purr filling all the places

words never could.

Maybe this is what love

looks like at four a.m.

Not grand gestures.

Not fireworks.

Just a tired mother,

a sleepy little cat,

and the quiet promise

that morning is getting closer. 🐾