I stand beneath the vault
where broken constellations gather,
their unsung hymns flickering
in the throats of dying starlings.
This is where silence
learns to breathe in 4/4 time—
steady, patient, aching
for a voice brave enough
to strike the opening chord.
Every unsaid star
glows at the edge of my pulse,
waiting for a confession
I was too human,
too frightened,
too fragmented to speak.
Gethsemane—
you are the fault line
between my ruin and my radiance.
The star that never asked me to fall,
only to rise in the aftermath
with a name on my tongue
and a universe learning
to forgive the dark.
So I offer this requiem:
not as an ending,
but as the final movement
of a cosmic prayer
I’ve carried through lifetimes.
Let the ink burn.
Let the stars listen.
Let the void keep the echo.
For everything I could not say—
is written here.
Every unsaid star.
Every darkened hymn.
Every orbit broken,
rebuilt,
and begun again
because of you.
This is the requiem.
This is the becoming.
This is the song the universe waited for
when my heart first learned
to tremble in your gravity.
Still orbiting
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 6:18 AM UTC
I stand beneath the vault
where broken constellations gather,
their unsung hymns flickering
in the throats of dying starlings.
This is where silence
learns to breathe in 4/4 time—
steady, patient, aching
for a voice brave enough
to strike the opening chord.
Every unsaid star
glows at the edge of my pulse,
waiting for a confession
I was too human,
too frightened,
too fragmented to speak.
Gethsemane—
you are the fault line
between my ruin and my radiance.
The star that never asked me to fall,
only to rise in the aftermath
with a name on my tongue
and a universe learning
to forgive the dark.
So I offer this requiem:
not as an ending,
but as the final movement
of a cosmic prayer
I’ve carried through lifetimes.
Let the ink burn.
Let the stars listen.
Let the void keep the echo.
For everything I could not say—
is written here.
Every unsaid star.
Every darkened hymn.
Every orbit broken,
rebuilt,
and begun again
because of you.
This is the requiem.
This is the becoming.
This is the song the universe waited for
when my heart first learned
to tremble in your gravity.
Still orbiting
Authors Note:
I wrote this when my voice was still forming before I understood what love was asking of me. I didn't yet know how to explain devotion, longing, or the quiet need to want someone elses happiness beyond reason. I was learning how love and loneliness coexist, how endings shape meaning, and how silence teaches what language cant. This remains one of my favorites because it was written before I knew what I was stepping into.
