𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖶𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾—

𝖨 𝖿𝗅𝗒.

𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍, 𝖠 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖨 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗂𝗆𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖱𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗆—𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍.

𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝖿𝗍. 𝖬𝗒 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇— 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗐, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐— 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾.

𝖢𝖾𝗒𝗑, 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾—𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾.
𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾.  


Alcyone, you can't understand me in this formless state. But please, keep calling. He cannot see, but sight has no need.
He knows. He knows this is the call of not just any tern, but the song of his soulmate.
Love need not search; it remembers.

Your love splits through her jealousy like thunder through silence. Your voice cuts deeper than The Ocean.
We will bring him back. No force, not even Fate, can swallow love’s call.



𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯,
𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘦𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥,
𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥. 𝘍𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵,
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥,
𝘈𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵, 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳.

𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘕𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭,
𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.



The Sea tightens her grip. Crushing, drowning, consuming. She does not release. She does not relinquish.
But I flow, yielding where she presses. I create space within her destructive hold. I unravel tension, shifting weight. I do not clash, I redirect. I do not force, I soothe until Fate’s chaotic waters pause. A whisper within her storm that steals. I restore Ceyx’s breath, I give him chance.

Alcyone calls,
Her voice, the beacon,
And I, the way.


𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢’𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥,
𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.
𝘈 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵,
𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯.
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘪𝘥,
𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯,
𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.  


𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦.  


𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘬, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘔𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺.
𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦’𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱, 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮.
𝘐 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥.
𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴,
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘔𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱, 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺,  
𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘺.


Go. Both of you, get out of here. Fly fast, do not look back. Go keep him company, the one who still waits for me. Who still waits… to reclaim himself.

I’ll distract her just a moment longer, before I find you, and we too, may return together, Death, or shall I say…

The Sea surges, recoiling from the release of her prisoner, snapping in fury. But I do not step aside.
Now, her dark eyes fix upon me alone.

I remain, standing where escape has already been granted, for Ceyx and Alcyone. Storm petrel and tern, eternally free at last, carried away by those wings of waiting.
And now, Fate and I are alone.



Her voice does not rage. Not yet. It soothes. It coddles. Unbearably kind.


"𝐎𝐡, 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝? 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐈𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞?"


She does not command, not yet.
She’s just explaining, obviously. As is the nature of The Tide. Retreating. Coaxing. Returning.
Her words mimic the shape of conversation, but never its substance.


"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫.  𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝."


I don’t move. I don’t speak. There is nothing I can say.


"𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?. 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞."


It is my choice who receives my affection, not hers.
I chose whom I gave my loyalty to. And that is a choice she will never accept.
But still, there is nothing I can say.


"𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬? 𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧. 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟. 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝."


Her words are a salve for wounds she inflicted herself. Her demands are a balm laced with venom.
Oh, sorry, not demands. She does not demand. Not according to her.
No, she offers. So kindly, she only welcomes.
She welcomes me to put out my arms so she may chain them with ease.
There’s nothing I can say.


“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮? 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."


Ah yes, because I’m the one who needs forgiveness.
I do not answer. And Fate knows why.
But she won’t accept why.
She does not call it rejection. She calls it error.
She does not lose, nor does she forgive.  She simply revises.
Because autonomy, sorry, I mean defiance, is a glitch.  
And love is submission, sculpted into the shape of her choosing.

But I am no error. I am not clay.
The only error exists in her wounded mind.
I am here to retrieve what does not belong to her.
But there is nothing I can say.
So my silence remains.

And just like any choice I dare make,

She’s displeased with my mistake.


The sweetness cracks at the edges. Her fantasy dissolves into fury.
The Sea swells. She attempts to pull the sky taught. She rises, The Waves, attempting to close the distance between us.


"𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃? 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄, 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀. 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑."


She cannot comprehend silence. She cannot bear a world she doesn’t orchestrate.
I have seen every iteration of this.
Her cyclical, delusional, broken mind cannot tolerate frustration, sorry, imperfection.
It makes no difference. Whether I give her appeasement, resistance, pity, silence.
It all ends the same. There is nothing I can say. Nothing I can do.


"𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄!? 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄! 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄! 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔!? 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔!? 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍!? 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!"


I sigh. She cannot be helped. She cannot be reached. And I…
I cannot keep trying.
But I can protect. I can use her obsession. To stall long enough for the lovers to gain enough distance.


"𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔!?"


Yes. The Sea always breaks in violence. That is her proof. That is her paradise.
The Sea erupts. And the two birds are long gone.


At last, it’s time to stop stalling.

Walking across
a college campus
classes done till Fall
I hear those lessons
never taught
on winds that truth recalls
The questions that we
used to prize
now locked away in files
To favor dogma’s
jagged edge
— in deaf self-serving bile

(Villanova University: July, 2025)