The Infinite Starr

fitness

  • The Grown Child in the Room

    I see you out there.Squinting into lives you don’t understand, like you’re peering through glass that only reflects your own face back at you.You think you’re watching a fall from grace.But you’re really just watching someone climb a mountain you’ve never had the courage to approach. You parade your opinions like a letterman jacket from…

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  • Ode to the Narcissists

    You never loved me. You just wanted to own me. You didn’t fall in love with me.You fell in love with your reflection in my eyes.I was the canvas, you were the brush—but the painting was always your own face.You whispered sonnets soaked in sugar,but every word was a leash.You didn’t want a partner.You wanted…

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  • Mouth of the Forgotten Sky

    They said silence was golden, but they never mentioned how heavy it could get. The face on the wall is not screaming. Not quite. It’s the kind of expression that happens just after the scream stops. When the echo folds itself into your ribs, and the birds begin to fly out of your mouth because…

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  • First thought

    It wasn’t named yet. The thing the child saw. It had no label, no boundary, no fixed place in the catalog of what’s real and what’s not. It just was. Suspended there like a question that had forgotten how to end. The child blinked. It didn’t go away.Instead, it shimmered — not like light, but…

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  • Inside out. Upside Down.

    It doesn’t come from the outside. It never has. What you see—what you call art, creation, a masterpiece—started in a place that no one else gets to live but us. It isn’t always beautiful there. It isn’t even always safe. But it’s ours. And it’s where it begins. The brushstroke is not a brushstroke.The line…

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  • The Mirror

    The mirror in the hallway blinked before you did. It didn’t speak. It didn’t shimmer. It simply waited. You told yourself it was your imagination—the way the air thickened when you passed, the way your reflection lingered a second too long. But you felt it. That hum beneath the surface. That presence watching from behind…

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  • Feel the fire

    Once the Glasses Go On, You Can’t Pretend You’re Blind Some truths come dressed in light. Others wait in the corner, arms folded, watching to see if you’ll finally notice the shape they make in the dark. You thought awakening meant you were done with illusions—but no one ever warned you that clarity comes with…

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  • Walking among shadows

    There is a certain kind of ache in walking awake among the sleepwalkers. You feel it in your bones before you ever speak a word—that pull between knowing and pretending.You remember what it felt like to wear the mask.To shrink your voice down into something digestible.To smile when the room was cold, just to keep…

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  • The Creator Must Now Create

    There’s a moment, quiet as a breath, loud as a scream, where the creator finally stirs behind sleeping eyes. Not awake yet. But close. Close enough to feel the hum beneath the skin, the ancient rhythm that calls them by name, the one they forgot. Or pretended to. They stretch. Not with limbs, but with…

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  • The Creator

    When something ancient stirs behind your eyes. A flicker. A pulse. A whisper at the edge of the void saying, “You’ve been here before.” But this time, something’s different. The creator woke up inside the creation. Not above it. Not outside it. But living through the marrow of it. Through bruised knuckles, saltwater tears, and…

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