Jude

22+ | they/them | certified yearner ! ○o。.

[judeologist]

Our small talks aren't that small.

I think of them religiously.

jude.

[astriloquum]

[mournfulroses]

Friedrich Nietzsche, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Friedrich Nietzsche

[judeologist]

my resting state is loving and loving hard. i am hurt. it is quite impossible to never not love. therefore i could never be restless.

[judeologist]

Don't you ever think love is unattainable.

Come to me and you will be full of it.

jude.

[judeologist]

My keen eyes have always seen the end of everything but not our conversation.

And I hope I never do.

jude.

[judeologist]

The lies on the ground have crumbled under the weight of a truth I can no longer deny.

I see you everywhere; in the flicker of my lamp, in the rustle of this very paper. You have plagued my mind faster than I could reason. I want to endure you as deep as the oldest roots we stand on. If in your heart, there is even a miniscule of something akin to what I feel, then take me, and together, we shall weather any treacherous storms life throws our way.

jude.

[judeologist]

Everything is a weapon in my eyes.

Your words and this knife.

jude.

[judeologist]

This one of a big ruthless desire of possessing you has been replaced by a slowly rotting maggot.

The fading tread of your footsteps forced me to forget what your apathetic face looks like. Each tick of the clock is a hammer blow to the brittle bone of hope. Longing, such a famish thing, gnaws at what little space you left.

I haunt the places you once filled: the indent in the couch, the subtle lip stain from your mug, the wrinkled newspaper marked by your fingertips. Your ghost lingers in the air like a cloying scent singing me a graceful dirge. The suffocating weight of your absence has begotten contempt—thick with propinquity—it whispers your name in a language only my heart understands.

And it's about time I unlearn it. ​​

Distance is a merciless sculptor, chiseling away at the edges of memories until all that remains is a single ragged shard of solace. My severed heart, a traitor in its own right, clings to the echoes of a love that has curdled. But I will not be its slave any longer. This is my act of flaying of the soul to let it run free. I am finally saying goodbye to the hollowed husk I was made of.

jude.

[judeologist]

Despite the world never aging any younger, it still births of love.

It comes in different forms: the humid wind caressing your face, turning the page of your favorite book, picking up a cent from the ground. . .

Why must the impermanence of life make it all tolerable? The certainty that this moment shall never happen again, in this matter, in this time and place, somehow liberates us from the worries of faint forebodings?

So it is utterly impossible that you cannot find love. It resists even the bottomless pit of water bodies. You are surrounded by it. You are held dearly by it. You are made out of love. Even if you are confounded by this fact, it does not make you less of a child sculpted from the atoms of wonderness.

I will eventually come find you to say you this. Though you may possess an indistinguishable name or a face I no longer recognize, we are both rooted by Earth's strongest threads of fate. I ought to know, evermore.

jude.

[judeologist]

A cruel stretch of time fills my silences with ghosts of conversations we never had, whispers of possibilities unheard.

I crossed out the days of our last hello's and goodbye's. Somehow, the world stood the same. Just when it was hellishly silent—it blazed an inferno of incomplete verse, only to ignite a yearning prayer of your return—the unbearable anticipation of a reunion that hangs out of reach. This very prayer taunted me with the future we almost glimpsed; a few of my million could have been's.

You follow me to my memory's slate with no rest.

jude.

[judeologist]

I am my father’s wrath and my mother’s drought.

I inherited my father’s rage. He destroys everything he touches and ruins the wellspring of tenderness my mother was once made of. I have his eyes and his fury, a thunderhead cloud perpetually brewing, casting a shadow over the things I revere. He had wrecked shards of mirrors–I cradled them with my jagged lacerated palms as I understood this was the only means of love he has known. I didn’t look at it for too long, afraid I’d see what distorted likeness I share with this man. I am his daughter. I am his flesh and blood. And I am his breathing tough luck. I held them as gently as I could of a newborn child, but even that is beyond me... he never taught me how.

In the end, I still saw the reflection. A woman’s eyes that resembled a soulless sandstorm. Its indifference is so reverberating it travels deep under my skin. How can a quiet desert yowl for warmth? You are half the sun’s stature–so utterly far away yet so authoritative. You stand above Earth and pronounce it as your own; I am inevitably submissive in front of your lawful words. You unforgivingly rule day and night, dunes and tides, this house and I... I am always thirsty for your solicitousness, heed my quench or this will writhe more than a frostbite. Of whose image did I see again? It exploits power like an ache acquiesced and a familiar sting.

Was it mother or was it me?

jude.

[judeologist]

And I would only feel your love when you’re the farthest to me.

This proximity is suffice. You’re never too close or too far, but one thing stands impasse; my arm’s length is at its limit. My hands hover inches away from you, yet you’re still out of reach. The invisible barrier that separates us is a prison I made, forged from unspoken words, unrequited glances, and the unnerving fear of rejection. You exist in this perfect liminal space, a comfortable distance that masks a devastating truth–it will always be like this, in this life, and the next one. I am forced to watch you leave like a father would his child, a conjuring dream in my slumber, a fading memory forgotten with time. These are the very things I crave the most that drive you further my grasp. But I would rather meet my end by hunger than ask you. This proximity is suffice.

I just realized your back has gotten broader. ​​​​Have you been carrying the weight of a future I'm no longer a part of?

jude.

[derangedrhythms]

We talked about music, read poetry, and the air between us caught fire.

Nikos Kazantzakis, from ‘Report to Greco’, tr. P. A. Bien

[judeologist]

Oh.

The scorching intimacy between is so loud it burned the air. Amidst the unification of our similarities, we must have maddened gods of fire.

jude.

[judeologist]

You are a stream of a riverflow that I, a waterfall, land on.

I will continue pouring love upon you, continuously, until the end of time. We are moving and unmoving, but we are constant. A pair. A union. A couple in nature. We are the ones who have survived a millennium and will live another. If the universe came from nothing, then nothing made us, and nothing made me for you. Drought is our separation—our death. Once you slip away, I am merely a vestigial organ that ceases to be discarded. I will fall apart without you.

Trees speak of us fondly, as if they have mouths. If they had one, they shall say we are an inserarable monarchy who breathes life to each other. You crown me and I will govern your system.

Our flesh is so woven that even the tiniest space between us festers pain on strangers if we stop touching.

jude.

[judeologist]

My wallet has become a sanctuary of your photograph.

The worn leather of my mundane pouch whispers tales of journeys shared, but none echoes as sweetly as the crinkled paper where your smile resides. This cage of wealth is a love sonnet etched in pixels—a silent vow that transcends the fleeting value of gold.

jude.

[judeologist]

I want you to see me with no faults, as humanly as you can.

Please don’t look at me like that. Please don’t look at me like I'm some beast who is about to devour your mate. I would rather prey and perform sarcophagy on myself—a sacrificial lamb whose only purpose is to serve you. A pool of blood is nothing compared to the idea of losing your eminence to someone. This is my last grotesque act of devotion.

Your chilling indifference is far more monstrous than any savage. Would you still visit my grave?

jude.