Journeys and Star Gazing

Autumn leaves scatter over sandstone steps, each one a memory resting in the quiet folds of yesterday. I walk back through these moments—your fingers brushing against mine, faint traces of our names etched on time’s walls, words pulsing beneath our skin like heartbeats, unsaid, waiting. We were young, hearts held in delicate cages, eager and hesitant to be known, felt, and understood. But we let the leaves fall, let the silence stretch across seasons, sighs slipping from our lips like quiet farewells.

Now, the flowers that once reached the sky fall in the fields of memory. In some way, everything that blossomed has gone to seed. Petals drift to the earth, an offering to the silent universe. Your embrace, now an emptiness woven from starlight, holds me in a kind of nothingness that somehow feels like everything—a cosmic tapestry threading through flesh and bone.

Man shapes, a woman breathes; we exist within this cradle of creation, where time unfolds like a flower climbing eternity. It’s a quiet dance of moments becoming years, the steady mountain above and the singing brook below. Listen—do you hear it? The song beneath the song, the hum that makes everything feel so real yet intangible. I fall into it, the marrow of it all, with you. And my words, as heavy as stones, fall with me, drawn by gravity into a place beyond words.

You hold me in the palm of your mind, a single breath echoing with all that might have been said or might never need saying. Maybe it’s wrong to speak like this, caught in someone else’s story, someone else’s time. Let’s light a candle; let shadows play in their necessary darkness. After all, what is revealed without the blessing of shadow, without the weight of night?

Eternity waits around the corner, buried in dusty books and whispered memories. The ghost of your father stirs in your gaze, his secrets deep-rooted, buried in the hay of memory. And yet, here we are, stranded in the mud of our own lives. Hold me, just hold me. Let these layers—the days, the skins we wear—dissolve. What does it matter if we’re a mistake? Our fingers have already found each other; our hearts are stitched together in the dark, understanding one another without needing to speak. Our song isn’t made of words; it’s an ache living in our bones, a quiet refrain only we can hear.

Trust, and the door will open. Trust and the ladder to the stars will appear before us. Open our hearts, and suffering shrinks to a single dewdrop on a blade of grass. Look into each other’s eyes, and there—yes, there—is the kingdom we’ve been seeking. Hold my hand, and we’ll never die. Listen to the silence between us, and you’ll know me as deeply as anything can be known.

What we are can’t be held in a word, a sound, a shape, or a shadow. What we are is beyond naming, beyond showing, beyond grasping. We are the emptiness that holds everything, a No-Thing birthing all things.

Give me the road again—not the mapped highway with rigid lines, but the open, untamed spaces of the unknown. Let me wander back to where my heart first learned to roam, to those early fires and wild, unbroken skies. I want to walk those paths again, not with my feet, but with the quiet longing of my soul, letting memory rise like smoke in the evening air.

Let me laugh, unguarded, and weep without fear. Let me reach for the stars as I once did, not with hands, but with the open ache of my heart. I want to sit by the fire, tell stories in the warmth of the night, and rest in the cool shade of day. To live simply, fully, in all the ways that once felt impossible.

And when the time comes—when I am nothing but ash scattered to the winds—let me settle here, in this place where we once stood together, in the quiet soil beneath the autumn leaves. Let me dissolve into the earth, and let love rise again, whispered through the leaves on these old sandstone steps.