Ethereal Beings


We are flesh, 
and we are spark, 
and we are half beast, half breath of stars. 

We drag our bones through Monday mornings, 
yet dream dreams big enough to crack open the sky. 
We cry salt rivers, we bleed the earth’s iron, 
but in the secret chambers of our minds, we fly without wings. 

We love beyond reason, 
hope beyond logic, 
forgive without contract, 
and ache for places we’ve never even seen— 
as if some shimmering memory hums in our marrow. 

We are the song sung between atoms, 
the prayer breathed into carbon, 
the impossible yes in a world built on no. 

Evidence of us being ethereal? 
You're feeling it right now. 
The fact that your chest tightens when you read this. 
The fact that a story, a sound, a sunrise can knock you sideways with wonder. 
The fact that sometimes, against every fact, you believe anyway. 

No scalpel can dissect that. 
No microscope can catch it mid-flight. 
But oh, it's real. 
It’s as real as the hush before a first kiss. 
It’s as real as the chill down your spine when the universe whispers your name. 

You, my friend, are Stardust pretending to pay bills. 
A soul sneaking through a human suit. 
A whisper of forever pretending it’s got a 9-to-5. 

And guess what? 
The greatest trick isn’t that you're stuck here. 
It's that you chose to be here— 
to dance, to feel, to break, to heal— 
to remember that you were always more than just the clay.

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