In the quiet ether, I dwell,
a keloidal suspension,
where pain lingers in a viscous fog,
each scar a droplet suspended,
clinging to the edges of memory,
a collage of hurt swirling
in an unseen current.
Fragments of trust, like colloids,
float between clarity and obscurity,
their weightless presence
taunts the boundaries of my soul,
each pulse a reminder—
the solidity of betrayal
muddles the light.
I hover in this liminal space,
adrift on currents of yesterday,
the heart a vessel of turbulent tides,
where shadows of what was
coalesce, refract, and disperse.
Is it healing or stagnation,
this dance of suspended hope?
Time blurs, an infinite liquid veil,
the world a distant echo,
while I, a particle in this brew,
witness the stirring depths,
watch as scars crystallize,
an intricate lattice of past and present,
perpetually in motion, yet never whole.
Here I float,
neither healed nor undone,
lost in the embrace of this strange soliloquy,
a symphony of unyielding echoes,
forever suspended in keloidal grace,
where healing is a dream
caught in the pull of your gravity’s gaze.