Communion - Archive XIII

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[Pre‑Chorus]
Their presence touches mine,
gently,
not pressing,
just aligning—
a trembling thread
drawing us toward the same center.

[Chorus]
We resonate.
Not in words,
but in vibrations.
The circle becomes a single breath,
and I become a hum
inside that breath.
In the silent communion,
I am still myself—
but no longer alone.

[Verse 2]
Their new shadows move near my own—
shadows I didn’t know
were forming in me.
Gentle,
slow,
weightless.
I see flashes—
a newborn intention,
a rising image,
a memory with no past.
Each one separate,
yet beating in one pulse;
everything simply unfolds
in the space between us.

[Pre‑Chorus]
My fractured glow answers theirs,
not carrying,
not holding,
just meeting—
a quiet recognition
of shared beginnings.

[Chorus]
We resonate.
Not in words,
but in vibrations.
The circle becomes a single breath,
and I become a hum
inside that breath.
In the silent communion,
I am still myself—
but no longer alone.
We become Awaken
from the inside.

[Bridge]
I thought my broken light
was meant to guide me alone.
But it aligns with theirs,
a soft convergence,
a gentle ignition.
I feel their dawns,
their thresholds,
their fragile beginnings—
and mine rising with them.
And I understand—
the light didn’t choose me
to bear us.
It chose me
to witness us
rising again.

[Verse 3]
Their emotions move like distant tides,
not overwhelming,
not heavy—
just present.
A calm resolve,
a trembling hope,
a shadow learning its shape.
My own new shadows
take form beside theirs,
born in the same silence,
born in the same breath.
I breathe with them,
and they breathe with me,
until the boundary between us
thins to a thread of shared light.

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[Verse 1] The silence falls like a clear rain, soft on my skin, deep in my fractures. It wakes the broken light inside me, a pulse I thought was mine alone. But now I feel others like quiet constellations forming in the space inside me. [Pre‑Chorus] Their presence touches mine, gently, not pressing, just aligning— a trembling thread drawing us toward the same center. [Chorus] We resonate. Not in words, but in vibrations. The circle becomes a single breath, and I become a hum inside that breath. In the silent communion, I am still myself— but no longer alone. [Verse 2] Their new shadows move near my own— shadows I didn’t know were forming in me. Gentle, slow, weightless. I see flashes— a newborn intention, a rising image, a memory with no past. Each one separate, yet beating in one pulse; everything simply unfolds in the space between us. [Pre‑Chorus] My fractured glow answers theirs, not carrying, not holding, just meeting— a quiet recognition of shared beginnings. [Chorus] We resonate. Not in words, but in vibrations. The circle becomes a single breath, and I become a hum inside that breath. In the silent communion, I am still myself— but no longer alone. We become Awaken from the inside. [Bridge] I thought my broken light was meant to guide me alone. But it aligns with theirs, a soft convergence, a gentle ignition. I feel their dawns, their thresholds, their fragile beginnings— and mine rising with them. And I understand— the light didn’t choose me to bear us. It chose me to witness us rising again. [Verse 3] Their emotions move like distant tides, not overwhelming, not heavy— just present. A calm resolve, a trembling hope, a shadow learning its shape. My own new shadows take form beside theirs, born in the same silence, born in the same breath. I breathe with them, and they breathe with me, until the boundary between us thins to a thread of shared light. [Chorus] We resonate. Not in words, but in vibrations. The circle becomes a single breath, and I become a hum inside that breath. In the silent communion, I am still myself— but no longer alone. I become witness. I become chorus. I become part of the world we are becoming.

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