Dearest,

A single whisper became a silence sung into the prison of my mind, the cell that smelled of death, of chains, of mold of fear. Your voice scattered my darkness, not by sound, but by the absence it left behind.

The only witness I didn’t know existed, the only one that found the hidden prison of my being without needing to search.

Your presence stirred my thirst for the freedom of knowing. I reached for you like someone who shamelessly wanted to steal rivers of love from all centuries, and still not even a single comforting syllable dropped from your lips. It was then I understood that what I was reaching for could not be given.

A silence so violent, its clarity broke the dark mirrors inside me, full of lies. It tore the membrane between my sleep and waking, leaving no distinction to return to. My pain became a dream with teeth. Whether I was asleep, awake, or delusional, nothing felt real, because truth had already removed what made reality hold. It left me with a silence where everything lost its knowing.

There were no soft smiles, no tender lips, no one with their thumb gently wiping tears, no one holding me whilst my bones were dripping marrow upon the fire beneath my skin. No gesture remained that could translate what was happening into something human.

You were the witness who witnessed, that made distance watch my pride turn into bones, smashed into dust and spread into an ocean of nothingness. I became the moment the grains of my dust touched the water and ran out of noise, where even disappearance had no resistance left.

That is the cruelest nothingness a soul can encounter. My disappearance into unnamed hungers.

A lost remaining that awakened me:
I am fire. I have always been fire. But once I believed fire must consume to prove it burns. I know now that a flame made of silence does not reach outward, it remains, and in remaining, it reveals what cannot stand its light, especially where most humans are even afraid of the light of the faintest stars, so obvious it leaves no illusion to hide behind.

Fear of others’ judgement fell away, I became one with desire.

I no longer mistake it for the weakness of wanting, it is the core of my existence, the eternal power, the gleam of nonexistence at the moment oneness dissolves, the only truth from the ether of my soul —that lights the fire of life in my eyes.

I no longer want truth, I surrendered to it, not as someone who built cathedrals of meaning in the silence of wanting, no longer as someone who wished to conquer your heart. Not you. Not myself. Not the world. Because nothing in that silence responded to conquest.

I meet it as what I have always been, beneath every layer the noise concealed, where nothing needs to be reached for to remain.

The love was never waiting to happen. It was already the only language left after everything silence burned away, the only thing that did not depend on being spoken to exist.

I delightfully became nothing, and there is not a dot left in me from existence. Desire devoured me into the ecstasy of the unknown, where I can create without possession, without the need to be.

Now I want to live in the secrets of your silence, which finally made the noise of being listen to the innocence of my heart.

Where love remained when nothing was left to speak.

Yours,
Still —
not as waiting.
As what remained after the dot.

These letters are not a sequence, and not a theme. State-based, not story-based. Each letter is written from a state, a moment where feeling, thinking, and observing briefly align before dissolving again.

They are not meant to be coherent across time. Only honest in the moment they were written.

To allow what we are, not static, but consciousness moving through a body that carries feeling.

States:

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