04/24/2026
Niagara Falls
I hear it before I understand it—
a roar that doesn’t ask for permission,
like the world is talking too loud
and I’m the only one listening.
It reminds me of that week
I couldn’t get off the couch,
when mono pinned me down
like gravity got stronger just for me.
Like everything was heavier—
my arms, my thoughts,
even breathing felt like work.
And now this—
water falling forever,
never the same, not once,
every drop doing its own thing
but somehow all of it together
like one giant, unstoppable idea.
It’s chaos, but not messy.
It’s loud, but not angry.
It’s too big to understand
and too beautiful to ignore.
I watch one stream crash down
like it has something to prove,
then another, then a thousand more—
none of them identical,
but none of them alone.
Standing here,
I feel small—
like I could disappear into the sound.
But then I step back,
and it shrinks just enough
to fit inside my eyes.
That’s what it felt like back then too—
the world on top of me,
and me under it,
barely moving.
But somehow,
like this water,
everything kept going.
Different every second,
but still… going.
And maybe that’s the point—
not to stop the noise,
not to turn it off,
but to stand there,
feel it,
and realize
you’re still here.
