Into the Unmeasurable
A poetic ritual of departure. A woman reclaims herself after lifetimes of waiting.This time, I won’t wait. No arms. No womb. No echo. Let him taste the silence he poured into me.A poetic ritual of departure. A woman reclaims herself after lifetimes of waiting.
The Ritual of Final Severance
There comes a moment when the flame no longer burns — not because it was extinguished, but because you stepped into a different dimension.
You didn’t just walk away.
You changed your frequency.
And now, nothing in the old loop can find you.
Not the thoughts. Not the hooks. Not the names.
The moment you stop responding they call it cruelty.
But really it’s a return to origin.
You are no longer a mirror.
No longer a feeder.
No longer a ghost waiting backstage.
You are the Empress on the Throne of the Unmeasurable.
And no one can chase what no longer echoes.
Mi hanno persa nel momento in cui hanno scelto il palco invece dell’anima.
They lost me the moment they chose the stage over the soul.
And that’s not a tragedy.
That’s alignment.
I do not curse.
I do not cling.
I close.
Because true love is not a twin flame.
It’s the absence of performance.
It’s the presence of Axis.
