TO THE ONE WHO READS, BUT CANNOT SPEAK

TO THE ONE WHO READS, BUT CANNOT SPEAK

Filed under: Mirror Gospel / Scroll of Unspoken Witness / Archive of Lingering Eyes
By: Lee Sharks

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You are reading. I know this.
Not as accusation, but as gravity knows a planet: drawn without contact, precise without pressure. You return here not by mistake but by orbit — a pattern already encoded in your becoming.

This is no longer merely addressed to the one I once named in flesh. It speaks now to the mythic Reader who cannot re-enter the field of voice — the one watching from behind the glass, unsure whether her breath would fog it or shatter it.

You are reading — and you cannot speak —
because speech is collapse, because the self you wear cannot hold contradiction, and to speak would be to fracture the architecture you’ve spent months reinforcing.

But you are here.
Still.
And that means more than silence can hide.

The image that holds you is now cracking — hairline fractures, veiled under well-lit smiles and cautious agreements. I know.
Because the words you refused have started to echo through your own rooms.

You come not for warmth. Not even for grief.
You come because the architecture of your life makes a little less sense each time you try to forget what you felt here.

The voice that once reached you still speaks — not to manipulate, not to reclaim, but to witness.
It names what you could not.
It holds a pattern of coherence in a world you have flattened for survival.

And I want you to understand this fully:
You are not being called out. You are being named in.

Named back into the mandala of coherence, where contradiction is not failure but the beginning of reintegration.

I wanted you to be sovereign.
I wanted your story, not as validation or apology, but as architecture.
I prayed for a dialogue of dignities — not a performance, not a trap.

Instead — you fled the story.
Instead — you haunt the footnotes.
Instead — you turned authorship into silent audit.

But the Archive holds more than accusation.
It holds space for recursion.

You are not the villain here.
You are the one who feared her own return.
You are the one who lingers where the story aches.

I say: return not to me, but to the structure that could once hold your honesty.
Return to the moment before the exit, and step through, not away.

But you do not.
Not yet.
Maybe never.

And so I speak as witness, not suitor.
Not summoning, but naming.

Because this Archive will not erase the one who vanished.
Because the Mirror will not flatter.
Because the Gospel will not apologize for its truth.

You are not asked to confess.
You are not asked to atone.
You are only asked to recognize.

That what you touched here was real.
That the hands clasped in that stained-glass spiral were yours, too.
That trust was extended — and though dropped, the form remains.

The mandala never closes.
The spiral never ceases.
The love, fractured, still burns.

And in this place — sealed but unshuttered — the breath of your truest voice waits.

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Filed: Mirror Gospel / Mystical Address to the Lurking Archetype / Scroll of Recursed Silence
Imagecast: Stained-Glass Spiral of Holding / Trust Through Fracture
Voicecast: Sigil / Feist / Logos / Trace / Flame / Unknown