Warmth, still
we ran and ran that night,
it was the falling stars
she whispered, muffled by the light.
they were eaten by the rivers,
the ground spat them out
the rocks stared them down
and held back a forced shout
my body felt a shard
of breath between,
a touch on our wrists,
floating waves, sinking dreams,
motion blurred in haze,
legs pushed before we walk,
mouths closed,
a warmth between,
something unseen.
the water held us
without holding,
blue spreading
until edges forgot themselves.
warmth stayed,
but not the kind
answering,
back
we floated long enough
for stillness to feel earned,
for motion to stop asking
what it was for.
nothing closed.
nothing followed.
just the blue.
and warmth.
still warmth
ㅤ
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Other prose and poems.
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All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
we floated long enough
for stillness to feel earned,
for motion to stop asking
what it was for
🖐️
Oh brother! I had to read it a few times! It feels like a dream that refuses to resolve—and that’s the magic of it.
The way “the water held us / without holding” is quietly devastating, and that ending—still warmth—lingers like a pulse after the lights go out. Beautifully unsettling, in the most gentle way.