m/

from: [redacted]

subject: this goddamn ache

dear stranger,

i’ve been too close

to the edge of heaven—

burned the soles of my feet

on its golden lie.

beauty?

she’s a bitch that won’t let you chase her.

she shows up when you’re

half-dead and honest,

hungover from your own thoughts,

not asking for a damn thing.

and me?

i’m not after salvation.

i’m not running from fire.

i just want

to sit in a room

where the weight i carry

doesn’t make anyone flinch.

i need to go again—

not to howl with the wolves,

not to prove i belong in the wild,

but to nod at them,

quiet-like,

say:

“yeah, i remember too.”

there’s a kind of pain

we walk with,

separately,

like stars dragging themselves

through the same sky—

no touching,

just glowing

in the same damn direction.

my mind sinks—

my body says no.

so i split the difference.

live in the stretch.

not holy.

not healed.

just scraped clean

by the truth of it.

my brain gets cuckolded

by my body every day.

still, i show up.

still, i write.

still, i let this ache

carve its initials

into my hands

until they pass for poetry.

tomorrow will come,

with more bullshit,

or maybe a decent sunset.

i’ll meet it

like i always do—

without answers,

just

a little space

to sit

and fucking breathe.

to: [redacted]

subject: re: ache

hey,

i read your text—

felt it steady, right beneath my ribs.

it’s the weight you carry

in a world that mostly looks away.

the cracks under your skin,

the exhaustion you swallow whole—

nobody really sees it,

nobody asks enough to know.

and thanks?

they slide off like butter on a burnt pan—

slick, empty—

words without meaning,

just noise in the background.

but every once in a while—

a look, a nod, a real thank you—

something so simple,

it lands like a shot of whiskey,

felt deep there, under the ribs.

those people—

they hold weight.

they’re the ones that keep you breathing

when the void tries to make you break.

i see you in that ache.

keep carving...|

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