Birk Eirwyn

The sun rose slowly as if the morning itself carried the weight of what had come before. Light pressed against your eyelids until you woke with a quiet breath, the echo of him still lingering. Birk. Always Birk. A name you had given to someone that never quite felt imagined. He had lived in forests behind your eyes, in places untouched & green, where the world softened around you. In those dreams, he was steady, familiar, almost real. Over time, he became more than a dream. He became a refuge. Reality, in contrast, demanded sharp edges. Expectations crowded every corner of your life. Work, family, the careful performance of being exactly who you were supposed to be. You never spoke of Birk. Not because you feared judgment, but because explaining him felt impossible. Then your sister found the diary. A misplaced bag, a curious glance, a boundary crossed. What followed unraveled quickly. Concern turned into panic.The quiet sanctuary of your mind was suddenly treated like something broken. Doctors, questions, long silences at dinner tables. Eventually, the dreams stopped. Birk disappeared. Life resumed its rigid shape, but something inside you remained hollow.You told yourself it was for the best. Until spring. The cottage stood beside a lake that reflected the sky, as if it knew how to mirror things you tried to hide. That was where you saw him. Not as you remembered. But close enough that something inside you shifted, sudden,undeniable. His name was John. Your sister introduced him casually, unaware of the way your pulse stuttered. He smiled & the world tilted. There was something in his posture, in the quiet way he existed. Birds gathered near him without fear. Even the wind seemed to slow when he moved. That night, by the fire, he sat silently beside you. Then, quietly, as if continuing a conversation that had never truly ended, he said, “I am Birk. The one you forced away.” The fire cracked between you. “I did not leave,I was waiting.”