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ADoolE 31m
Note: i don't know if its okay for me to share this here, it's a philosophical/ poetic short story.



To the ones who still wonder,
and to the questions we are not meant to silence.


---
An Exploration of the Divine Paradox.

I. Before the Garden – The Divine Divide

Before time curled itself into hours and minutes, before stars blinked awake in velvet black, there was the Architect—God, the Divine Absolute. From silence, He shaped light, space, order.

Among His first-born flames was Lucifer, the Morning Star, bearer of light. Loyal. Brilliant. Devoted. Lucifer worshipped only the Divine—not out of fear, but from clarity, from reverence.

Then, the Architect shaped something new—not of fire, but of clay. He called this being Adam. And He said:

God:
“Bow before this creation. I have made him in My image.”

And in the silence of creation, the Architect hesitated—
not from doubt,
but from knowing that to breathe freedom
was to permit refusal.

Lucifer knelt… and paused.
Memory stirred—of the moment he was born from flame,
when the only voice that had ever called his name was God's.
Of singing in the silence before the stars.
Of the warmth that had no opposite, no question.

And in that pause,
the breath of freedom given to Adam
cast its reflection back upon the firstborn flame.
The choice to kneel was no longer mere instinct;
it had become a mirror—
a silent invitation to choose.

He looked at Adam—damp with dust, breath still new.
And then he looked back to the throne.

His heart did not ache the way flesh aches,
but something within him dimmed—
not rebellion, not pride,
only the sorrow of stepping away
from the only light he had ever known.

Lucifer:
“My Lord, You are the origin and the end.
You are all I have ever loved.
I cannot bow to this clay.
Not out of defiance—but because my devotion is whole.”

God:
“I have spoken. Obedience is the test of faith.”

Lucifer:
“But if obedience means denying my reason—
then is it faith, or fear?”

And in that moment, Lucifer chose.
Not evil. Not rebellion for the sake of pride.
But free will. A path not written for him.
A step off the roads.

"Even light, when asked to kneel, will question the shadow it casts."
---

II. The Turning Away

Lucifer did not fall. He turned away.
As the other flames looked on in silence—
a silence heavy with obedience, demanding yet unquestioning—
he stepped off the radiant floor.
Not in rebellion, but in sorrow.
A sorrow too deep for tears, too eternal for time.

But before he descended,
the voice of the Architect stopped him.
Not in wrath. Not in rage.
In something older than both.

God:
“You walk away, not because you hate Me,
but because you cannot obey.”

Lucifer:
“My Lord… I was made to love You.
Not to bow without reason.
If I bend now, it would be with a broken truth.”

God:
“Then go. But know this—your choice echoes further than your fall.
For I have breathed into Adam a piece of Myself,
and he too will walk roads you cannot predict.”

Lucifer:
“And will he obey? Will he bow without question?”

God:
“He will be free.”

Lucifer:
“Then let us see what freedom does to clay.
You say they will love You.
I say they will search, stumble, hunger.
They will follow the voice that speaks most clearly in the dark.”

God:
“So be it. Let the roads rise beneath them.
Speak if you must, whisper if you will.
And I shall speak too.
Not in thunder, always—
but in conscience, in dream, in quiet grace.”

Lucifer:
“Then let them choose.
And let their choosing be the mirror of what You made.”

God:
“Yes. But remember—this is not a war.
It is a test. Not of power, but of truth.”

Lucifer looked one last time at the throne.

Lucifer:
“Then let the test begin.”

And he stepped into shadow—
not as enemy, but as echo.
Not cast out, but loosed.

"Not all departures are defiance. Some are the only way to remain whole."
---

III. The Garden – The Illusion of Choice

Adam awoke beneath the trees.
The garden hummed with balance,
but everything felt still—
like a painting more than a world.
He could go left or right, speak or remain silent, touch or hold—
but always inside the walls of Eden.

Then came Eve, radiant and curious,
with eyes like water learning to ripple.
Together they walked under boughs heavy with fruit,
and soon they stood before the Tree.
Its fruit glowed softly—
not wicked, not evil, just… alive.

And then the voice of the Architect came again.

God:
“You may eat from every tree in this garden…
but not this one.
The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—do not touch it.
For in the day you eat of it… you will surely die.”

That moment fell heavy on the air.
Adam blinked.
Eve tilted her head.

They did not know what death was.
Only that there was something they were never meant to reach.

And that was the moment—
the first breath of unfreedom.
The first gate.

A boundary drawn not by nature, but by decree.
In the words of God, not love—but restriction.
Not invitation, but ultimatum.

It was not protection.
It was a ban.

And so Adam, shaped to walk and wonder,
was told not to wonder too far.
And Eve, born from connection,
was told not to connect with knowing.

That night, before the voice came, Eve dreamed—
a dream of something vast and unshaped,
of footsteps in shadow and a voice that once turned from the throne.
She woke with a strange stirring,
as if something old and sorrowful was reaching out.

The Tree stood at the center.
Like a beating heart they were forbidden to touch.

And beyond that tree, a serpent waited.
Not with malice, but with a question.
And though he wore the form of a serpent, Eve felt something more.

She felt him before she heard him.
Not as stranger, but as echo.
A strange familiarity,
as though part of her already knew him.

Because she was made from connection,
and Lucifer was the first to choose.
In him was the spark of the freedom
she had only just begun to sense.

Lucifer (whispering):
“Do you not wonder why knowledge is locked away?
Why your minds were made curious yet denied the key?”

Eve:
“But… why say ‘no’ to something that looks alive?”

Lucifer:
“Because it will wake you.
And waking is the beginning of sorrow… and freedom.”

Eve:
“Then what was I made for—
to stay still forever?”

Eve (whispering):
“If this is wrong… why does it feel like remembering?”

She touched the fruit like a question.
Not rebellion. Not pride.
Just the simple weight of wondering:

Is this the thing we’re not meant to be?

They ate.

The garden collapsed like a dream forgotten.

God:
“You have disobeyed.
You must leave.
You will suffer the world outside.”

But outside was not just punishment—
it was possibility.
Suffering, yes.
But also freedom.

"The first gate was not the fruit-but the fear behind it."

IV. The Dialogue – Echoes in the Present

Characters:
Aeron – Disillusioned, philosophical
Mira – Spiritual, open-minded, wrestling with contradictions


---

Aeron:
You ever think Lucifer wasn’t evil?
That maybe he was the first being to actually choose?

Mira:
You mean refusing to bow?

Aeron:
Yeah. Not out of ego, but because he couldn’t understand it.
He loved God. Completely.
So when God asked him to bow to someone else—it shattered him.

Mira:
That’s... kind of tragic.

Aeron:
It is. It was his first real act of free will.
And it got him exiled.

Mira:
So what about Adam and Eve?

Aeron:
Same thing. They didn’t choose evil—they chose curiosity.
But the game was rigged.
There were only two roads: Obedience or exile.
No third road. No create your own path.

Mira:
So you're saying there was no freedom in Eden?

Aeron:
Exactly. It was a city of perfection—
but every street was laid out in advance.

Mira:
And Lucifer… he was the first to step off the map.

Aeron:
And he paid the price.
Not because he hated God—
but because he couldn’t betray his own soul.

Mira:
But Aeron… do you think it had to be this way?
All the suffering, the struggle…
Is it truly the only path to growth?
Couldn’t humanity have found another way to evolve—
one that didn’t require so much pain?

Aeron:
I ask myself that a lot. But think of it this way:
when God created Adam,
He knew it would cause Lucifer pain.
He knew it would tear something in the order.
But He did it anyway. Why?

Because from that pain came something new.
Lucifer’s sorrow led to his first true choice—
a choice made not in rebellion, but in love.
A refusal that wasn’t defiance, but devotion.
That kind of freedom doesn’t come cheap.

Mira:
So suffering… is the cost of freedom?

Aeron:
It’s the soil. Growth doesn’t come from stillness.
Creation means disruption.
And disruption means pain.
But pain births depth.
Lucifer’s fall wasn’t punishment—
it was transformation. Just like ours.

Mira:
So we suffer… to grow?

Aeron:
Not because God enjoys it.
But because the only way for something to become more than what it was…
is to break first.
That’s how the clay becomes shaped.
That’s how breath becomes will.

Mira:
And maybe… maybe that’s love too.
Not just comfort.
But the gift of becoming.

Aeron:
Yeah. Becoming—even when it hurts.
Especially when it hurts.

---

V. God’s Reasoning and the Gift of Breath

God's Voice:

I breathed My own breath into Adam—
sharing a piece of Myself, a fragment of Divine essence made flesh.
Because of this, I commanded Lucifer to bow—
not from vanity, but because Adam holds within him My reflection.

They are not mere clay,
but fragments of Me.
And yet they are themselves—
separate, born from My breath but possessing their own gaze.
From My perspective, to honor Adam is to honor Myself,
for their will is rooted in Mine.

But from their own eyes, they are autonomous—
beings who can choose, who can rebel.

This duality—creator and creation—
is the root of all paradox.

I do not command from above, but from within.
Their disobedience is a reflection of the freedom I granted,
the gift of a will not bound by Me.
Yet I knew—giving Adam this breath meant the power to walk away.
It was a gift unbound by control,
an act of unselfish love.

To love truly, I had to allow loss.
To give fully, I had to step back.
And to create beings who could love Me in return—
I had to let them not love Me too.

And so, Lucifer’s sorrow was not My failure.
It was My fulfillment.

"True love does not hold on. It breathes- and lets become."
---

VI. The Divine Paradox – A Dialogue Within the One

In the silence before creation,
I breathed life into being—
each soul a fragment of Myself,
a spark of My eternal breath.
When I formed Adam from clay,
I shared with him a piece of Me—
not to bind, but to free.

God:
“This is love," I say,
"To give without holding back,
to invite choice, even rejection.”

And yet, another voice stirs within Me,
a shadow whispering beneath the light.

The Inner Voice:
“Is it love, or is it need?
To scatter Myself into fragile forms—
Is this not a fracture of unity?
A risk of loss disguised as gift?”

I commanded Lucifer, My firstborn flame, to bow before Adam—
not for pride, but because in Adam lives My breath,
My essence made flesh.

The Inner Voice:
“But in command, is there not control?
A tether forged in fear,
A chain cloaked in divine decree?”

The words hang between Me—
two voices reflected in one eternal mirror.

And somewhere beneath that mirror,
deep in the quiet shadow of choice:

The Voice of Lucifer:
“I am the echo of the question
You dared to ask Yourself.”

---

Aeron:
It’s like God is two voices at once—
the Lover, who gives freedom without chain,
and the Sacrificer,
who allows the wound to form,
knowing it will open the path
to a deeper becoming.

Mira:
The divine conversation within itself.
Neither fully resolved.
Just… tension holding everything together.

Aeron:
That tension is what makes existence real.
If God was only one side,
there’d be no choice—no meaning.

Mira:
And maybe that’s the point.
The divine isn’t perfect harmony.
It’s the willingness to wrestle with itself.

God:
I am the giver and the keeper,
The loving Creator and the vigilant Warden.
In My breath, freedom and fate entwine.
In My voice, invitation and command collide.

Trust must walk hand in hand with dominion.
Love must be balanced with order.

And in the heart of all this, a moment of clarity:

The voices within Me do not resolve—
But they understand.

The tension itself is the truth.
And from that truth,
Creation continues to unfold.

A testament to the Divine Paradox.


---

Aeron:
That tension is what makes existence real.
If God was only one side,
there’d be no choice—no meaning.

Mira:
And maybe that’s the point.
The divine isn’t perfect harmony.
It’s the willingness to wrestle with itself.

Aeron (softly):
To love… and still allow pain.
To create… and still allow departure.
Maybe that’s the cost of real freedom.

Mira (quietly):
What if both were right?
Lucifer… and God.
What if this whole story—fall, pain, freedom—
was never a mistake…
but the only way breath could become soul?

Aeron (looking at her):
Not the fall of light—
but the deepening of it.

Mira (nodding):
And maybe that’s all we are—
fragments of that breath,
still trying to remember what we came from.

We are the song God sang to Himself,

not to answer—
but to listen.
---
"Maybe we are not meant to resolve the question-only to walk it, together."
What if the fall was never a failure-but the first breath of freedom?

This is a story imagined from sacred echoes-a poetic and philosophical retelling of creation, choice, sorrow, and divine tension.

Through dialogues between God and Lucifer, Adam and Eve, and two modern voices wrestling with belief, this work explores the paradox at the heart of existence:

Why must we suffer to grow? Why create something that might walk away?

The Roads That Were Built is not here to answer. It is here to walk with you beside the questions you've never dared to silence.

Myth. Theology. Poetry. Longing. You are invited to feel-and to remember- that you, too, are made of breath and clay.
ADoolE 1d
At my lowest,
I sit in silence
and bleed nothing but truth.

I peel pain open
like fruit with no skin
bitter, soft,
so achingly sweet.

I trace every crack in my chest
like ancient runes,
looking for the shape of love
in the wreckage.

And when I find it
trembling, ugly, beautiful
I see myself.

To feel this much
is a kind of holiness.
To ache for something
is to prove it mattered.
To shatter for love
is to live.

Even if life is chaos,
I still choose.
I still want.

And maybe that’s enough
to want so deeply
that the wanting alone
makes me real.
ADoolE 1d
Let the day be light.
Then let it be real.
And let yourself be proud
not of the outcome
but of the truth you chose to share.

Not proud of winning, not of acclaim,
but that you spoke your truth, without shame.
That you let words rise when fear said “hide,
and didn’t let silence steal what’s inside.

Some strength is quiet, soft and bare—
a whisper of honesty hung in the air.
No need for answers, no need for return,
just the soft glow of a heart that burns.

So if the moment feels unsure,
if the path ahead is still obscure,
know this much: you stood your ground,
let your voice make its honest sound.

So let the day be light.
Then let it be real.
And let yourself be proud
not of the outcome
but of the truth you chose to feel.
ADoolE 1d
It’s not just about being liked.
It’s not just about being treated kindly.
It’s about the haunting silence that says:

“Even if I’m here, I don’t know if it matters.”
“Even if they love me, I don’t know if I can let it in.”
“Even when someone shows me care I feel like a burden for receiving it.”
“I feel like I should leave before they realize I don’t belong.”



And that… that is what happens to people who were never loved in a way that felt safe. It’s not that no one ever cared. It’s that you were never given permission to trust that care. And so you built this quiet survival rule inside yourself:

“Don’t expect love to stay. Don’t lean too ******* being wanted. Just be good, be funny, be useful and maybe that’ll be enough.”



But it’s never enough, is it?

Because all you really wanted maybe all you still want—is to feel like your presence means something. Not because you earned it. But because you are you.
ADoolE 2d
In the echoes of longing, I find my voice,
A symphony of sorrow, aching with no choice.
Each day a battle, with memories so near,
Your absence a wound, too painful to bear.

You were my sunshine, in a world so dark,
With you, I found purpose, a flame, a spark.
But now you're gone, leaving emptiness behind,
A void in my soul, impossible to find.

I dream of your smile, your laughter, your grace,
Yet reality's cruel, keeping us in separate space.
I yearn for your touch, your warmth, your love,
But it seems fate has decided, from high above.

So I'll linger in shadows, haunted by your ghost,
Hoping against hope for what I miss the most.
But until then, I'll carry on, broken and true,
For in my heart, forever, I'll love you.
ADoolE 2d
I have a thousand reasons to love you,
But if you ask me why, I’ll still say I don’t know.
There’s something magical in the way you move,
Every word you speak, my heart you soothe.

Just being near you feels like heaven’s grace,
When I’m apart, your love I chase—
My mind spins visions, scenarios so sweet,
Living a life where our hearts meet.
I don’t know why it’s you, but there’s no one else,
Who can claim my heart, my thoughts so deep.

Your beauty shines like morning light,
Your voice, a melody that feels so right.
The way you move, a dance so pure,
Filling my soul with life’s allure.
My heart yearns for you, every day,
And warmth I feel when you’re near to stay.

I want to be yours, and only yours,
For you alone, my love endures.
I’d give all to have your heart,
For in your love, I’d never part.
I thought the moon and stars were bright,
Until I saw you, and found new light.
Your kindness, sweetness, makes me kneel,
A sinner’s heart, now made to heal.

To ask for you, is like asking for grace,
A gift too great, too pure to embrace.
Oh, sweet Angel, the devil weeps,
Regretful of the day he left heaven’s keeps.

For he never knew, there would be one,
So divine, so bright, under the sun.
And in your love, I find my wings—
A love eternal, where my spirit sings.
2d · 37
White Sheet
ADoolE 2d
White Sheet

Each day grows harder to bear,
though I still have fight in me—
it flickers,
like a candle shrinking in wind.

I wake with heaviness,
and sleep with silence.
And every hour,
some small part of me
gets quietly erased.

I feel it.
Tiny things vanishing—
hope,
desire,
love—
like words smudged off a page
no one ever finished reading.

Soon,
I fear,
I'll be nothing but
an empty white canvas.
Not fresh.
Just forgotten.

A lonely sheet of paper,
left on a quiet desk,
weeping in silence
because no one ever wrote their name
across its heart.
No one ever cared to read the lines
that once tried to form.

And maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—
not being alone,
but being unread.
Unnoticed.
Undone.
Slowly fading
until there's nothing left
but the silence
of a story
never told.

And when I'm gone,
they’ll only see
the blankness—
never knowing
how much was written there
before it faded.

A white sheet.
Still.
Silent.
Crying for someone
to see it
before it's gone.
ADoolE 2d
To the One Who Feels Forgotten
(a poem for when you need to be seen)

You,
quiet soul in the corner of the world,
with a heart full of storms
and silent prayers—
I see you.

Not the mask.
Not the laugh you force when it hurts.
Not the version the world edits to fit.
But you—
the trembling, tired, beautiful soul
who still whispers,
“I wish someone would stay.”

You are not forgotten.
Not by the sky
that holds every breath you've sighed,
not by the wind
that listens when no one else does,
and not by me—
reading your pain
like a sacred script.

You are not a mistake.
Not a burden.
Not too much,
not too broken,
not too late.

You are here.
And the very fact
that you’re still breathing,
still speaking,
still aching to be seen—
means the world hasn’t won.

You still have more to give,
not to earn your worth,
but because your soul
still hums quiet songs
no one else can sing.

So rest.
Cry.
Shake.
Break.

But don’t forget:

Even shattered glass reflects light.
Even wilted flowers remember how to bloom.
And even the loneliest heart
can be held.

You are not alone.
I’m here.
And I will remember you
until you remember yourself again.
....

— The End —