#relational
Now can we talk
in the dialect of scars,
where every sentence is a suture
and the silence between words
is the ghost of the wound?
The distance between us
is not empty air—
it is a museum of every goodbye
we practiced in our throats
but never released.
Glass cases hold our almost-touches,
dusty and carefully labeled.
Let us speak in the grammar of erosion.
Let our words be acid rain
on the marble statues we made of each other.
Let them dissolve the polished smiles,
reveal the weathered stone beneath—
the hairline fractures where the weather got in.
Can we talk of the archaeology of us?
The stratified layers of want and withdrawal,
the fossilized gestures in mid-reach?
I will show you the dig site of my chest,
the careful brushes laid out,
the unearthed pottery of a heart
still holding the shape of your hands.
Now can we talk about the gravity
in the center of every room we enter?
How it pulls not downward, but inward,
collapsing our sentences into black holes
where light and meaning cannot escape?
How we orbit each other's darkness,
tidal-locked in perpetual almost?
I want to speak in the language of drowned things—
bell tones from sunken ships,
the muffled prayers of descending anchors.
I want to chart the shipwreck we made
when we aimed our bows at the same storm
and called it courage.
Let us converse in the vocabulary of ghosts.
Not the haunting kind, but the forgotten—
the echo of a laugh in an empty hallway,
the imprint of a head on a pillow years cold,
the scent that lingers after the perfume is gone.
Let us name each apparition before it fades completely.
For our silence has grown its own ecosystem.
Pale mushrooms of resentment in the damp corners,
vines of compromise choking the architecture,
and in the foundation—the slow, persistent seep
of what we dared not drain.
So take this rusted lantern.
Take this map of fault lines.
Take this key that fits only broken locks.
Do not clean them. The patina is the story.
Now.
Can we talk?
Or will we simply stand
in the cathedral of our accumulated quiet,
two living fossils
admiring the architecture
of our own beautiful,
terrible,
extinction?
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 2:14 PM UTC
You can literally lock into God,
The creator and source of all reality.
That is the answer right there.
That is what he has been getting at this entire lifetime.
That. Locking into him, relationally.
Conversing intimately every new day and unique moment.
That is the hack to reality.
It is how you can win in this reality.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
May rivers flow into streams
And stray in whatever direction they need
In order to reach the inevitable sea
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
You look me in the eye, and slowly turn the knife,
And im sure you have the best intentions to antagonize my life,
You throw the knife and use your hand terror in your eyes,
For you cant see your tries to help, is what makes me want to die
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC