vibrations

Hello little one, don't worry, it's going to be fine.

How could you have known What was coming? Living there in fear of A broken life that you didn't Design but had to endure nonetheless. Next to a man who loved you The best way he could, Better than the way he was loved.

He built the best man he could in you, And though that wasn't enough to make you perfect To make you happy, As least you can rest knowing he did his best. A warmth capable of Warning a thousand worlds.

That's why you have the smile. You didn't know it then, How could you? You stood steady, though broken, Eyes yet hungry for deceit. A photo of the last breath before the long storm of pretending.

I used to think it was just a moment — father and son in a frame of sunlight, Captured by mom... an instant of Nirvana. But I see it now: it was the final moment of joy before the lie took root, before desire learned to disguise itself as survival.

The lie was small, a spark that wanted to be warmth. But sparks don’t stay still. They run, and they burn, And field after field after field, There is no end to the fuel. One learns to smile in the flame. This will be fine. A lifetime outrunning fire, telling himself it was light.

It changed the course of a lifetime.

Every kindness since then has carried the taste of ash. Every prayer a question of worthiness. Called endurance — Reality was hiding from the echo of a clear voice. You, the last unfractured self, the one who didn’t yet flinch At his own reflection.

So powerful, So beautiful, So ignorant.

I have hurt people, not out of malice, but from cowardice — the softest, deadliest kind. A raccoon washing treasure made of cotton candy, watching it dissolve and wondering why my hands were empty again.

If Jehovah ever looks down and sees this crooked machine still moving, I hope He says, “I don’t know how you kept it running, but you tried.” Because I have. Even broken engines can hum a hymn.

The clack-clack-clack of disaster.

The chatter and grind of love.

And if I could speak to you now — the boy with his hand on Dad’s shoulder — I would say: I’m sorry for what’s coming, but thank you for still being inside me. Thank you for never forgetting what truth feels like on the tongue.