take methe desperate, quiet longing to be chosen by something larger than this life. not rescued — transported. you are done with this field, this smallness, this waiting. whatever is up there, whoever is listening — you are already saying yes.
thinkthe cost of a mind that never stops. you have burned so long and so quietly that the body has become secondary — just a shape the thinking passes through. the room says do it. you already are. you have never once stopped.
traveling with myselfthere is a part of you that never got domesticated — ancient, luminous, taking up more space than is polite. you carry it everywhere, sit beside it in silence. no one else can see it. you stopped explaining it a long time ago.
wait it outthe quiet defiance of simply enduring. no plan, no solution, no signal coming through — just you, hands folded, dressed too bright for how grey everything feels, sitting with the static until something changes. it's not giving up. it's refusing to leave before the story ends.
watchedthe unshakeable feeling of being observed by something that knows you better than you'd like. not threatening, exactly — just aware. it found you in the dark and it isn't looking away, and the worst part is you're not sure you want it to.
witness of nonethe hardest grief is the kind that asks nothing of anyone. no witness, no comfort sought. just the quiet collapse inward — the body remembering it is allowed to break, just this once, just here, just alone.
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