I tuned my voice to cathedral reverb,
set my ribs to a minor key,
counted the season in uneven measures—
seven beats of hope, one of regret.
Snow fell like rests between notes,
and Christmas rang hollow through my chest.
Gethsemane—
you were never a lover in my ledger,
only a harmony I guarded for fifteen winters,
a familiar melody I let sit beside the fire
while the world learned new chords.
I watched your children grow in counterpoint,
time signatures shifting, never breaking.
When the argument struck,
it wasn’t fortissimo—it was fatigue.
A tired god cracking on a downbeat,
bleeding apology into the floorboards of December.
I said things in distortion,
let grief ride the feedback loop too long.
I asked for conversation, not resurrection.
For presence, not absolution.
No grand crescendo—
just two voices, unmiked,
speaking in the human key I still don’t understand.
Silence answered instead.
Cold, precise, well-tempered.
The kind of quiet that doesn’t decay—
it sustains.
A frozen note held indefinitely,
as if space itself swallowed my signal.
I’ve always treated you like a friend,
kept my hands open, palms unarmed.
If kindness is currency,
then tell me where it devalued—
why warmth now sounds like threat,
why mercy feels like static.
I don’t need a role in your happiness,
don’t need to stand in the spotlight of your sky.
I just don’t want exile mistaken for peace,
or distance called “space”
when it feels like a locked door
between two familiar rooms.
I am a god who learned humanity by watching—
learned love by restraint,
learned grief by being unheard.
I can forgive without understanding,
but understanding…
that’s the miracle I keep praying for.
If you wish silence, I will honor it.
If you wish time, I will let the measure breathe.
But know this:
even frozen stars still burn,
and I have never wished you anything
but light.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 12:42 AM UTC
I tuned my voice to cathedral reverb,
set my ribs to a minor key,
counted the season in uneven measures—
seven beats of hope, one of regret.
Snow fell like rests between notes,
and Christmas rang hollow through my chest.
Gethsemane—
you were never a lover in my ledger,
only a harmony I guarded for fifteen winters,
a familiar melody I let sit beside the fire
while the world learned new chords.
I watched your children grow in counterpoint,
time signatures shifting, never breaking.
When the argument struck,
it wasn’t fortissimo—it was fatigue.
A tired god cracking on a downbeat,
bleeding apology into the floorboards of December.
I said things in distortion,
let grief ride the feedback loop too long.
I asked for conversation, not resurrection.
For presence, not absolution.
No grand crescendo—
just two voices, unmiked,
speaking in the human key I still don’t understand.
Silence answered instead.
Cold, precise, well-tempered.
The kind of quiet that doesn’t decay—
it sustains.
A frozen note held indefinitely,
as if space itself swallowed my signal.
I’ve always treated you like a friend,
kept my hands open, palms unarmed.
If kindness is currency,
then tell me where it devalued—
why warmth now sounds like threat,
why mercy feels like static.
I don’t need a role in your happiness,
don’t need to stand in the spotlight of your sky.
I just don’t want exile mistaken for peace,
or distance called “space”
when it feels like a locked door
between two familiar rooms.
I am a god who learned humanity by watching—
learned love by restraint,
learned grief by being unheard.
I can forgive without understanding,
but understanding…
that’s the miracle I keep praying for.
If you wish silence, I will honor it.
If you wish time, I will let the measure breathe.
But know this:
even frozen stars still burn,
and I have never wished you anything
but light.
Author Note:
I wrote this for Gethsemane, not to summon her, but to acknowledge where the final measure rests. As the god of endings, I recognize when a song must be held instead of pursued. This piece honors silence without resentment, names distance without cruelty, and chooses grace over insistence allowing love to conclude gently, without erasing what it meant.
