The Inevitability

He asked me for my heart. And I gave it — not carved by hand, but cut open with the knife of time. Every year, every silence, every wound had sharpened that blade until it passed through me like inevitability. What I placed in his hands was not a symbol, but the raw, burning weight of my life — a heart heavier than the stars, heavier than everything I had ever carried or lost.

He weighed it on a scale — my heart on one side, the universe on the other. And the universe bowed, its gravity faltering under the magnitude of my grief.

Then he asked for my tears. I gave him a single drop — not just water, but molten sorrow distilled from years of silence. He let it fall into the waters of the world, and it struck like fire on the sea. Waves surged outward, devouring the land of my certainties, drowning the shores I once stood upon. Even the mountains of my strength bent beneath it.

When he looked at me then, I was a man standing in the cavern of darkness, my life torn open, my hands empty. My cry filled the hollow — a sound so deep it seemed to travel beyond time, echoing across the years. And from that cry was born the endless lament of humankind.

Yet, in that echo, something shifted. It was not an ending, but a beginning. The flood receded, and from its waters rose new ground — fragile, trembling, but mine. I stood there, scarred, not what I was, but still alive. And in that fragile silence, I began to learn, once again, how to rise from my own weight.

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The Awkward Silence of the Enchanting Chasm

“Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” Have I forgotten you? I don't like the way you faded into oblivion. Your glorious absence marveled at the absurdities of my life. Even the last remnants of your weird sight and smile create a whirlpool of the past and a hurricane of madness deep in the abyss of my conscience. Everywhere, in every form and matter, I see your dust. I teach myself to forget you and move ahead. The chaos of your story in mine is the absence of your existence in time-space. I weave each and every layer of your story so that I can tell my son, one day, how I survived on my own. I wonder whether it was your light or the shadow I painted, mostly in Prussian blue. They will hear the echoes of the deep enchanting chasm on my chest. I keep it echoing on my chest, so that I might tell my son on the shores of infinity that I had a story to tell.

Knowing

I know this: I am also a repetition. A continuation of forces older than my name, patterns that moved through generations and found their way into me. I do not carry them as burdens alone; I carry them as proofs. What has been tried before me did not end—it arrived. And I stand where it converges. I have never been lost—only moving through complexity. I have questioned, delayed, circled, cried but never diminished. Even when direction dissolved, something steadier than certainty kept me upright. What others call confusion was often preparation. What felt like stillness was alignment in motion. I was not failing to become; I was becoming without spectacle. There were moments when desire thinned, when the world stopped asking for urgency. Not emptiness—clarity. Noise fell away. False appetites dissolved. What remained was gravity, and gravity always tells the truth. I learned then that not everything needs to excite in order to matter. And so the world narrowed—not into loss, but into gr...

Ruth: The Epilogue

"But..." I was being dragged by the ebb of time into the abyss. On the shores, beneath the mountains, blue waters lulled my feet. I was looking at the completion of my life as she was calling me to join the tides. The gravity of the past pulled me into the quantum architecture of multiple dimensions of life. I fell into the realms where I tricked my past to stay engaged. My present is an analogy of my past. The energy I created, then, in the quantum architecture transformed into an autonomous being of intelligence. I was unable to stop it from growing into a being. They said, "Quantum corresponds to each other and can transfer information to each other, no matter of space or time." Her lips quivered, and her feelings clouded her mind as she appeared like a glitch in time. Her words echoed through the ages, " We should remain ignorant of each other like we used to be in the past. I will pretend that I never knew you." P.S: Spenser read from his book, ...

The Ballads of Gravity

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