The walks started after. I didn’t decide to start walking. I just found myself at 5 AM… needing to move. If you know, you know.
Stitched to Me
At first light, I walk.
Fresh air
empty sidewalks,
streetlights still on,
like the day hasn’t committed yet.
My shoes find the same cracks.
And there it is,
moving with me,
some days in front,
some days behind,
always where I can feel it,
never where I can grab it,
like a frickin’ shadow.
Grief.
I’ve stopped trying to trick it,
so I can outrun it.
I can’t.
It doesn’t care how fast I move,
how far I go.
It’s stitched to me.
Sometimes it stretches ahead,
pulling me into memories
I didn’t ask for.
Sometimes it falls behind me,
just enough to make me think I’m free,
until I turn
and see it there.
Stitched.
I didn’t choose it,
but I’ve learned to walk with it.
(2021, © Julia Delaney)
For everyone taking early morning walks, trying to outpace something that’s stitched to your very being. You’re not alone out there. We’re all walking with our shadows.
Be Alive 🌱
Love ❤️, Julia
Rhyme & Reason
![[section label="Regret, You Silent Sculptor"] [row style="small" v_align="equal" h_align="center"] [col span="7" span__sm="12" span__md="6" animate="blurIn"] Grooves Regret works in the dark. Chisel and mallet, carving valleys in my chest, grooves in my mind, hollows I didn't know were there until I fall into them. It shapes with "what if," with "if only," with the door I didn't walk through, the call that went to voicemail, the words that sat in my throat and stayed there. It keeps reworking my memories, pressing new grooves over old, until I can't tell anymore which version I lived and which one it made. The groove gets deeper. The chisel returns to the same line. I feel it wearing through and I hold still for it like I'm helping. But my hands are moving too. On different clay. Something regret hasn't touched yet. Two sculptors. Same room. One facing what was. One facing what's here. Neither puts down their tools. [gap height="10px"] [ux_text font_size="0.75" text_align="left"] (2018, © Julia Delaney) [/ux_text] [/col] [col span="5" span__sm="12" span__md="6"] [ux_image id="27223" image_hover="glow" depth="1" animate="blurIn"] [/col] [/row] [/section] The past is already carved. What matters is who's holding the chisel now... Be Alive 🌱 Love ❤️, Julia [section bg="24103" divider_top="waves-opacity" divider_top_flip="0" divider_top_to_front="0" divider="waves-opacity" divider_flip="0"] [ux_text text_align="center"] more from this hour: [/ux_text] [gap] [blog_posts style="default" type="row" col_spacing="xsmall" columns="3" columns__md="1" depth_hover="5" animate="blurIn" ids="27202,8949,27229" show_date="false" excerpt="false" comments="false" image_height="56.25%" image_hover="glow" image_hover_alt="zoom"] [/section] [block id= "poetry"] [block id="disclaimer"]](https://eadn-wc05-15915244.nxedge.io/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/poetry-about-life-711x400.jpg)
We’re in this together—every step, every breath, every heartbeat.
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