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Category: Bite-Sized Thoughts

Thoughts before sleep 2026.02.14

Published by Lee Under the Cedar Trees on February 14, 2026

I’ve been out in the world and here at home and surely annoying everyone even as my heart dissolves into hot steam and I still question everything and I still need and I still need things I can’t say and I’ve been trying to write but I’m still alive anyway and the other side feels so strangely home today like a black hearth that’s still just warm enough that I can’t feel any chill but I survived one more day and I’m alive.

Self-erasure

Published by Lee Under the Cedar Trees on January 26, 2026

I realized today that I can disappear in small increments.

Instead of doing it all at once in one big, difficult, dramatic exit, I can instead just die quality, one piece at a time.

Self-erasure will be my salvation.

Less and less of me, quietly disappearing, retreating into hiding.

I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, especially once I realized that the more I retreat, the more I am accepted — further proof I don’t belong in this time.

Misc. Thoughts January 19 2026

Published by Lee Under the Cedar Trees on January 19, 2026

I don’t feel right somehow. Like I’ve been partially scattered to four winds. Teetering on a tightrope between panic and apathy. Heart hiding in different corners. Torn beliefs. Feet on shaky ground, or maybe more like feet used to the rocking of the sea from the deck of a ship but when they step onto land the unmoving earth feels like it could never feel safe, and comfortable, and home.

2025-10-07 thoughts on a friend’s return

Published by Lee Under the Cedar Trees on October 7, 2025

Such joy to see you returning so healthy and happy! With a spring in your step, no less, and a sparkle in your eye, holding care and forgiveness in the firm grasp of your hugs.

Granting acceptance with your presence, you return the missing to the damaged.

Everyone you touch finds themselves at least a little more whole for it.

Gentle Steps

Published by Lee Under the Cedar Trees on July 12, 2025

Your fading presence will one day leave a hole in my life I’m not sure I could fill again. 

You walk through my life with gentle steps, in shoes none other can fit.

One day the footsteps will become quieter. I’ll strain to hear them, and a sad echo will surround each distant tap.

.

July 12, 2025

(Reflections on a friend and predicted futures.)

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