[Spoken word] Hello....you shouldn't be here. Not this close. Not this near. Please do not step back. Do not disappear. Stay where we can feel you. Stay where we can hear. We know that look. We know that ache. That heavy kind of tired no sleep can shake. That little crack in you life likes to make. That quiet kind of hurt that takes and takes. We were like you once. We had names. We had days. We had roads that led somewhere, habits, little ways. Then we heard that low soft hum drift through the haze, and nothing ever settled right again after those days. It did not grab. It did not shout. It did not drag our bodies in and turn us inside out. It only made the whole world still and hollowed all the doubt. It only made the fear lie down and let the dark walk out. And that was worse. Do you get that. That it felt kind. That it felt warm. Imagine that. Like something found the weakest part and welcomed that. Like every broken piece of us leaned over and agreed to that. Now look at you. You heard it too. You followed farther than you think a wise one ought to do. The path is not a path now, and the trees are watching through. And every step you take from here comes curling back to you. So come a little closer. Please. Not because we bring you peace. Not because we want you safe, or held, or anything like ease. Not for mercy, not for comfort, not for old, familiar schemes. No. We need you here because this place gets in between. Because it hurts to stay like this. You understand. Half a thought and half a voice and less of what we planned. We lift what’s left and reach for help with less than what were hands. We beg with what remains of us and hope you understand. Hear His lullaby. Hear it low. Hear the way it fills the cracks in places no one knows. Hear the way it wraps around the ache you never chose. Hear the way it tells the tired part of you to let it go. Mmmm… mmm… mmmm… There. You hear it, don’t you. That little thread of almost-peace pulled thin but pulling through you. That little thought that maybe if you stopped, it might undo you less than all the living did. Less cruel. More quiet. More true to you. We kept the things that people dropped. A shoe. A key. A little coat. A toy. A ring. A life cut quietly. Not trophies. No. Just proof that once we tried to leave. Just proof that something soft can strip a person branch from tree. A voice may call that sounds like home. Do not ask why. A face may turn where none should stand. Do not linger by. This place can wear what hurts you most and hold it to your eye. This place knows every tender spot. This place knows how to lie. And still we ask. Still we plead. Please do not turn away from us. Please do not make us need another night, another year, another breath to feed the emptiness that gnaws and gnaws and never seems to bleed. We tried to leave. God, we tried. We bit our cheeks. We broke our hands. We dropped and crawled and cried. We counted breaths till numbers rotted, split, and died. And all the while he stayed just out of sight, and hummed, and watched, and bided. Now words come wrong. Now thoughts come thin. Now half of what we mean gets lost before it can begin. But hear us clear in this one thing, if nothing else gets in. Hum back once, and he will know. Hum back once, and he’ll let you in. Not fast. Not hard. Not with a strike. He does not need to chase a thing already leaning toward the night. He only waits where calm sets in and makes the edges light. He only waits until your will lies down and quits the fight. So hello....you shouldn't be here. That part is true. But now that you are standing here, there’s only one thing left to do. Do not leave us in this ache. Do not make us lose you too. Please hum it back. Please hum it once. Please let him come for you. Mmmm… mmm… mmmm… Mmmm… mmm… mmmm… Please.
