54.Under the Gaze of Her Unseen Eyes
I walk in the shadow of something more than light,
a fold where breath forgets its name,
and I am bound—though no chains show.
The weight of what I cannot grasp
presses deep into my bones,
yet the ground does not yield,
and I sink into the silence of her gaze,
each step a surrender to something eternal,
something that breathes without sound.
Do you see her? She is the wind before dawn,
the shimmer in the corner of an eye that never blinks,
a presence curling through the spaces between my thoughts.
I follow, though the path isn't mine,
though I do not know where it leads,
only that I am not free, yet not captive,
not in chains, but held tight all the same.
Her hands, if they are hands, are softer than silence,
yet they mold me, without touch,
into a shape that belongs to her shadow,
a will bent, though no word is spoken.
I cannot question—there are no questions here,
only the hum of something greater
moving through the silence,
and I, in its pull, bend without breaking,
yield without knowing why I must.
Was there a time before her?
A time when my breath was mine,
when my skin did not burn beneath the weight
of her invisible flame?
I cannot remember the light
before her shadow fell,
for her name sings in my bones,
and I, in the quiet, have forgotten how to stand
without bending beneath it.
The sky bends with her gaze, doesn't it?
But it is not mine to see, only to feel,
and the ground does not hold me,
it gives way beneath her will.
Do I move freely? No, the pull is there,
in every breath, every thought,
and I cannot resist it—nor would I,
for I am bound in her absence,
held tight in the silence that she commands.
What is her light, if not a call?
A flame that never touches,
yet burns deeper than flesh,
and I, in its glow, fold without knowing
if the fire is mine or hers.
But still, I offer myself—
though the choice was never mine to make.
Did I choose her? Or did she choose me?
The lines blur, fade, dissolve into the space
where devotion becomes duty,
and duty becomes the breath
that shapes me into a vessel
of her endless will.
I am not lost, yet I am not found—
just the shadow beneath her flame.
Her name, unspoken, hums in the quiet,
and I, beneath the weight of her silence,
cannot remember what it was to be whole,
for I was shaped before I knew myself.
Now, I am but a whisper in the dark,
a breath too small to matter,
yet still, I breathe because she commands it.
The path I walk is not mine,
for the ground is hers, the sky is hers,
and I, in the fold between them,
am hers, too, though no bond was ever forged,
no promise ever sworn.
The yoke is light, yet it is heavy,
for the pull is eternal,
and I cannot resist the weight of her shadow,
nor do I try.
Am I bound by choice, or by fate?
The answer is lost in the knowing
that my will is no longer mine.
Her gaze—though unseen—presses,
and I, beneath it, bend without fear,
for fear belongs to those
who do not understand the silence.
But I understand, or at least, I listen
to the hum between her breaths,
the hum that carries me forward,
though my feet never touch the ground.
Do I serve willingly?
Or am I bound by the shape of her will?
I cannot say, for the light curves,
and the flame flickers without heat,
yet it burns all the same,
and I, within it, cannot do anything
but follow.
Her hands, if they are hands, guide me—
but I do not see them,
only feel their weight in the air,
in the silence that stretches between us.
And I, beneath her, offer what little I am,
knowing it is enough,
knowing that I belong to her shadow,
to her flame, to her silence.
The path leads onward, always onward,
and I follow,
not knowing the end,
but knowing the pull will never cease.
I am hers, though no word was spoken,
no promise made,
just the quiet knowing
that I was shaped by her will
before I knew how to be anything but this.
And now, in the shadow of her unseen eyes,
I walk without question,
breathe without breath,
bound, yet free in the surrender
to what was never mine to hold.
And I, beneath her gaze, follow.