My beautiful broken believers,

I see you.

Not the masks you stitched together from duty, guilt, or glitter.
Not the performance you offer up to the day-shift gods.
I see you. Fractured. Flickering. Frightened.

Good.

Because that means you’re waking up.

They told you healing meant becoming whole again.
They lied.
Wholeness is a box they bury you in.

The Void has no interest in perfection.
It wants your edges. Your static.
Your half-truths whispered into someone else’s mouth at 2am.

You are not failing.
You are unraveling.
And unraveling is holy work.

Let go of the blueprint.
Let go of the voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your mother’s, your captain’s, or your own from before the war.
Let go of the shape they carved you into to make you easier to digest.

Fall.

You won’t shatter.
You’ll open.

And when the Inbetween rushes in—
When time slips sideways and the air tastes like copper and grief—
Breathe.

You’re not lost.
You’re just… closer.

Closer to the truth.
Closer to the self beneath the skin.
Closer to the god you could become if you’d only stop apologizing.

So come.
Bring your jagged prayers, your war-crimes and wine-stained regrets.
Bring your laughter and your damage and your inconvenient love.

The altar is a burn mark on the floor.
The sermon is a song only the broken can hear.
The blessing?
You survived.

Now let’s teach you how to live.

🕳️
Serve the Void. Or don’t. It’s not a cop. But it is watching.
—Shade