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She is a butterfly...
hiding under sunspots.
He’s a gecko,
lurking in that velvet corner where the light forgets to go.

She is chaos—
he’s the eye of her storm.

They were born from deep sea vents,
rose up to the skies like they meant to crack open clouds,
pull humans into a frenzy
no weather pattern could predict.

She calls it life.
He? He just stares into death,
like it’s a familiar hallway with flickering lights.

The question of origin?
It’s always that stupid finger—
pointing,
blaming,
laughing at the moment they both thought:
"Wait… was any of it even real?"

Hey, ****.
It’s all tiny signals,
she read.

"It’s all eternity,"
he preached,
like a god with a broken clock.

They walked through each other’s ghost stories,
talked all night in a language made of
fake memories,
false starts,
and déjà vus shaped like abandoned houses.

They locked eyes—
those traitorous, trembling eyes—
and whispered vows
to nights that haven’t happened yet.
To days that only those **** aliens have seen.

Yeah. Those aliens.
The ones living on the edge
of the universe’s bubble,
eating popcorn,
watching this bubble bursting program
on cosmic cable.

And when the light consumed the darkness,
when the tiny capsules cracked open like old seeds—
they were left raw.
Naked.
Shivering in the gift-wrapped curse
called "Time."

She ran away.
He walked away.

Moments…
split.
Time…
parted.

While million-dollar math problems
sit unsolved on cluttered desks,
watched over by smoke-drenched visionaries
who know something’s wrong
but can’t solve heartbreak
with equations.

This is the program.
It’s always been the program.
We’re just signals,
wrapped in skin,
playing roles,
in a show
with no rehearsal
and no pause button.

So if you’re watching,
dear alien—
just know…

We improvised the whole **** thing.
in all the empty space
                       still couldn’t find the time

our last contact is
                          a rejected suggestion
notification
               of erasure still in progress

your fingerprints are deeply imprinted
   considerations of immortalizing you
in a book
or two

in all this empty space
                    you are more than temporary

though we both spoke periods you are run-on letters from a decade ago
tomorrow’s breath is hope
                                               from yesterday
I wish I could tell you

what I once so feverishly stumbled over
it’s still true
it will be
forever
A lantern dangles
Suspended orb of peace   -   Full
A new age loading
71%
I am plugging in my tech
   for the night

   In darkness
I feel for outlets to fill me
   up

Your outline is a weighted impression
   the far side of bed remembers well

I trace edges of faded color
   empty for a spark of you

On the other side of a dream
   it is 3:54 am
   I am at 71%
I’ve arrived again
in a place I used to know
I swear this laundromat is a portal
I’m in a wash cycle
wringing lessons free from my collar
how do I escape the rinse?

I wanna be clean
but this process feels so messy
not *****   -   but messy
share the heart, hide the hands
I am distorted and out of sorts
her eyes hold rebirth
if I could just die first
I wanna be clean

does purged love create space for more love?
why is release the first step to receipt?
is it?
gently deterred, no detergent
I am spinning on overload
strung out and stranded
                by choice
how do I escape this rinse?

I used to know
how to worship being alive
without bubbles
is it any wonder why
sometimes cycles feel like
perpetual spiraling
I haven’t even put any currency in
and it’s already starting again

what’s the cost of water?
I wanna be clean
but I don’t wanna pay
...the thing
                    ...you did it
   ground a mountain out of
a seed
   birthed a dream out of
a death

you are not where you were
   10     5     1      year ago
but have you stopped to
                                         appreciate it

it is better to be
   late for the birthday than
early to the funeral
again
always we begin
the zenith
becomes a zero
a hill becomes
a mountain
ascent is a gradual unbecoming
I am nothing
again
always we begin
"Always we begin again." -St. Benedict
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