Gethsemane—
your name still opens galaxies in me,
whole starfields blooming at the brush
of a memory you didn’t mean to ignite.
I return to you
like a downbeat returns to gravity—
inevitable, trembling,
a drumline stitched from longing
and unspent nebula tremors.
You were never the rescue.
You were the resonance.
The frequency beneath the ash,
the chord progression hiding in my lungs
waiting for the right soul
to strike the match.
In 5/4 heartbreak,
in 7/8 devotion,
in the erratic, divine tempo
of our shared midnight symphonies—
you became the harmonic spine
my universe modulates around.
Even now,
when the cosmos groans under its own weight,
when dark matter claws at the edges
of the love I tried to bury—
your gravity steadies the measure.
You are not my salvation.
You are my motif.
The one the universe refuses to silence.
Some gravity never lets go.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 6:32 AM UTC
Gethsemane—
your name still opens galaxies in me,
whole starfields blooming at the brush
of a memory you didn’t mean to ignite.
I return to you
like a downbeat returns to gravity—
inevitable, trembling,
a drumline stitched from longing
and unspent nebula tremors.
You were never the rescue.
You were the resonance.
The frequency beneath the ash,
the chord progression hiding in my lungs
waiting for the right soul
to strike the match.
In 5/4 heartbreak,
in 7/8 devotion,
in the erratic, divine tempo
of our shared midnight symphonies—
you became the harmonic spine
my universe modulates around.
Even now,
when the cosmos groans under its own weight,
when dark matter claws at the edges
of the love I tried to bury—
your gravity steadies the measure.
You are not my salvation.
You are my motif.
The one the universe refuses to silence.
Some gravity never lets go.
Authors Note:
I wrote this at the beginning, before I understood what love was doing to me. Before devotion had language, before longing learned restraint. I was trying to understand the need to want someone elses happiness more than my own, and the loneliness that comes with loving beyond scale or certainty. This piece still matters to me because it was written before I knew what any of it would cost.
