It felt
like an inside out depression,
where all the light trapped in a black hole
was flooding out
for the first time in eons.
They say that joy is
to never want anything to change,
Yet we
we are blessed to never call
behind
home
again.
Home
is the map:
a book where all the empty
space
is shouting,
the author has changed their name,
and the title?
Who could digest an eternity
that has just begun?
Halfspoken 