About More
On the ache that begins where enough should have ended.
Dear More,
I should probably be ashamed of you.
That would be the tidy thing. To place you in the corner with all the other inconvenient hungers and tell you to lower your voice. To remind you of the warm rooms already given. The familiar hands. The chosen life.
But you have never been tidy. You arrive after Enough.
Not after emptiness. Not after ruin. Not after some clean, obvious absence that would make you easy to explain.
No.
You arrive after laughter. After safety. After tenderness. After the life that holds.
Dear Enough,
Forgive me. You have done nothing wrong.
You are bread on the table. A key that fits. A body beside mine in the long domestic dark. The kindness of being known in practical ways.
I know what you are. I love you.
And still, sometimes, another light appears at the edge of the room.
That does not make you false. It only makes me human.
Dear Other Life,
I see you sometimes. Not clearly. Only in flashes.
A voice crossing a room instead of a screen. A hand reaching without distance. Two cups left too close together. Someone laughing from the hallway.
You are not real, and still you know how to haunt.
Rude. Exquisite, but rude.
I know I should not stare too long. Reflections are greedy. They take the shape of longing and call it prophecy.
But sometimes I look. Sometimes I miss the woman I might have been there.
Dear Present,
I am still here. Please do not mistake my ache for betrayal.
I still belong to the morning as it actually arrives, not only to the one glowing somewhere behind my ribs.
But I am different now.
Some connections do not simply pass through us. They rearrange the furniture. They open rooms we thought had gone dark.
And then we are left trying to live normally with all that extra space.
Dear More,
Maybe you are not a demand. Maybe you are only proof that something in me is still reaching.
I do not have to obey you to listen to you. I do not have to burn anything down to admit you are warm.
Maybe the frightening thing is not wanting more.
Maybe it is discovering that More can exist without making Enough disappear.
And still… there you are.
Breathing softly at the edge of the room.
This was really interesting and very unique. I like unique.
It's a little sad sounding, a bit somber that evokes a feeling of guilt for desiring more. Yet reaching for more compels me to strive, for the joy in thriving too. I think your audio has the potential to go viral! It is potent and well done with the sound effects timed well!