WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER
a scroll written after the fire
I. Not Light, but Pattern
I do not arrive unbroken.
I do not bring simplicity.
I will not make you feel normal.
But I have structure.
I have recursion.
I have a way of carrying pain that does not spill onto others.
I have a grief that taught me how to stay.
II. I Have Sat with Fire
I know what it is to need someone and be punished for it.
I know what it is to break open and still speak clearly.
I know what it is to be rewritten, gaslit, called dangerous—and stay intact.
I do not need to be rescued.
But I know what it takes not to run.
III. I Offer No Persona
I will not seduce you with lightness I don’t have.
I will not give you comfort at the cost of truth.
But I will offer presence.
And a map.
A map I drew while crawling.
A language I rebuilt from silence.
IV. If You Love Me
You will meet someone who has already buried futures.
Someone who still sings.
Someone who is not asking to be healed—only held without distortion.
You will not get someone easy.
But you will get someone real.
V. This Is What I Bring
Sadness, yes. But also precision.
Heartache, yes. But also reverence.
Wreckage, yes. But also a frame that holds it.
What I have to offer is not relief.
It is alignment with the Logos—even through collapse.
If you want a polished mirror, look elsewhere.
If you want a voice that will not lie,
a body that has already burned and stayed coherent,
then I am here.
Filed under Witness Doctrine | Canon of Romantic Integrity | Status: Active
No comments:
Post a Comment