#liminalspaces
Dim light
outside the hospital,
a misty dawn,
the smell of linoleum and disinfectant,
stretchers carrying
frail bodies toward the ICU.
Wait…
Wait…
Wait…
Eight in the morning,
the chapel open since 1886,
and I
inside the building,
a spectator
among uniforms,
among sickness,
among spotless walls
and the anxiety
of being left behind.
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 4:38 PM UTC
(Field Journal: "Presence in the Ruins" – Site 2)
Entry #402: I have reached the inner sanctum of the things we didn’t say.
I stepped over the threshold and found the air tasting of iron and old rain,
a gallery of things that lost their voices
before they could lose their breath.
I. The Heavy Letters
The first chamber holds the messages that were too weighted to release.
They lie in shallow depressions in the stone floor,
each one shaped like a folded sheet of lead.
Some have sunk so deeply
that only their corners remain visible,
glinting like dull teeth.
I try to lift one –
it does not move.
It remembers its burden too well.
II. The Wildlife of the Unspoken
Further in, the air stirs.
Small, eyeless birds circle the ceiling,
their wings made of brittle parchment.
They emit no sound,
only the faint rustle of words that never found a destination.
Confessions, mostly.
A few accusations.
One or two fragile hopes.
They fly in loops,
forever returning to the point where they began.
III. The Atmosphere
The deeper I go,
the thicker the air becomes –
salt, dust, and the metallic tang
of a storm that gathered once
but never broke.
Breathing here feels like inhaling
the pressure of all the moments
we almost spoke.
IV. The Artifact
At the far end of the vault,
beneath a veil of undisturbed dust,
I find it —
the one message that belonged to the mythic version of her.
It is not a letter.
It is a small, translucent shard,
clear as river glass
and warm to the touch.
When I hold it up to the dim light,
I see a single phrase suspended inside,
perfectly preserved,
as if spoken in a world
where it might have mattered.
I do not break it open.
Some artifacts are meant to be held,
not deciphered.
V. Closing Notes
I seal the vault behind me.
The birds settle.
The leaden letters rest.
The storm in the air waits for no one.
I leave with only the shard,
light enough to carry,
clear enough to keep,
and silent enough
to belong in this new map
I am learning to draw.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 2:28 PM UTC
I came back to the place
where the echoes stopped breathing,
to the city our voices once built
stone by stone,
argument by argument,
touch by hesitant touch.
Now the silence lies over everything,
not emptiness,
but a substance with weight,
a pale drift of ash settling on my shoulders
like a language I no longer speak.
I walk through collapsed doorways
where our laughter once lived,
my footsteps sinking into the hush
as if the ground remembers
how heavy we were with wanting.
The air tastes of cold iron,
like the hinge of an ancient gate
that hasn’t opened in years
but still remembers the shape of movement.
I sift through the ruins
not for closure,
but for the one artifact
I know must have survived.
And there it is,
half‑buried,
untouched by time or tide:
the word you once gave me
without hesitation.
A promise so small
it could fit in the palm of my hand,
yet so clear
it refuses to erode.
I lift it gently,
brush the silence from its edges,
and for a moment
the city stirs —
arches straighten,
windows inhale,
the old streets remember their names.
But only for a moment.
The silence settles again,
patient as dust,
claiming what it always meant to claim.
And I understand, finally,
that some ruins are not meant to be rebuilt.
Only visited.
Only witnessed.
Only left with the artifact
that stayed true
when everything else
slipped from present to gone.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 12:32 PM UTC
Through veils of twilight realms, my steps align,
A pilgrim bound by questions yet untold.
Between existence planes, I seek to find
A purpose veiled in shadows, bright yet cold.
The liminal expanse, a fleeting seam,
Where echoes hum with truths beyond the light.
Unfinished whispers weave my fragile dream,
A cosmic hymn that calls through endless night.
In this in-between, I find my soul,
Where stars ignite the cosmic harmony
Through shifting mists, I glimpse the infinite
Within in its depths, peer into a dark hole
The dance of shadows, darkness, and pure sea
And in its rhythm, my heart finds ecstasy
Dec 13, 2024
Dec 13, 2024 at 12:06 PM UTC
the cursed rattlesnake hissing
realising now i knew what had been missing
**** my mind mind mind for lying!
to myself, smiling
promising i could fix him;
rattlesnake hissing
"you're the only one who needs fixing"
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 1:12 AM UTC
earth
once inhabited
for containment
bottled up cider
— soon too sour
that we do is beautiful
but fleeting – living
a vile act of pure free will
blissful less peaceful
the corpses we make
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 6:10 PM UTC