A brief history of almost-touching: on longing, inertia, and the astrophysics of unspeakable ache.
Not all gravity is directional.
It’s the pull that doesn’t beg
that lingers longest.
The chalk still remembers
what wasn’t written.
Every near-touch carves its own bruise.
Some silences
burn cleaner than confession.
Some orbits
choose distance over collapse.
Even the stars hesitate sometimes
especially
when no one names the god.
It’s like floating outside of yourself as a casual observer. Being detached from it all. It’s a very strange experience.
Not all gravity is directional.
It’s the pull that doesn’t beg
that lingers longest.
The chalk still remembers
what wasn’t written.
Every near-touch carves its own bruise.
Some silences
burn cleaner than confession.
Some orbits
choose distance over collapse.
Even the stars hesitate sometimes
especially
when no one names the god.
It’s like floating outside of yourself as a casual observer. Being detached from it all. It’s a very strange experience.