---
date: '2025-11-11'
description: fusion of horizon
id: Horizontverschmelzung
image: '[[posts/images/time-flies.webp]]'
layout: letter-nf
modified: 2026-06-05 15:08:10 GMT-04:00
socials:
  substack: https://livingalonealone.com/p/horizontverschmelzung?r=1z8i4s&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=false
tags:
  - love
  - poetry
  - friend
title: Horizontverschmelzung
socialImage: https://aarnphm.xyz/posts/images/time-flies.webp
created: '2025-11-11'
published: '2025-11-11'
pageLayout: letter-nf
slug: posts/Horizontverschmelzung
permalink: https://aarnphm.xyz/posts/Horizontverschmelzung.md
generator:
  quartz: v4.6.0
  hostedProvider: Cloudflare
  baseUrl: aarnphm.xyz
full: https://aarnphm.xyz/llms-full.txt
---
![[posts/images/time-flies.webp|time flies, _acrylics on panel_—Carol Aust]]

<pre data-codeblock="poetry" class="poetry" data-language="fr">the day opens like a file;
  where your name is stamped on every page.
every moment with you feels less like fate
and more like a door i learn to open.
corridors multiply; your laugh chooses the right one without looking.



you are one of my dearest friends, a word too small,
a suitcase I keep overfilling,
and keep running out of vernacular to represent.



when you sit beside me, the furniture
  remembers how to be gentle.
your laugh echoes in the quiet spaces;
the walls sign for the parcel and keep it.



with you,
i grow less insect, and somehow,
  even more human;
i molt the hard shell of caution.
  i become more alive
where the verbs finally conjugate.
  coffee steams; the window fogs;
    the city writes us in pencil and still we stay.



thank you for seeing the draft in me
and reading it as if it were a book.
for believing the room is bigger than its walls.
for standing beside me
while the machine of worry hums and cools.



we keep a small lamp lit for the future;
it finds us without asking.
if love is an address, ours is a light left on.
if love is a test, you are the quiet proctor who says, breathe.
not the romantic kind
but the purest form of love.


there are nights i become the envelope
and you are the letter;
the world is only a stamp.



nothing grand
—just the miracle of your shoulder
finding the right height for my head.


—11/04/2025</pre>

