Once upon a time, there lived two little leaves. The first leaf was perfect - beautiful, green, thriving. The second leaf was far from perfect - decrepit, spotted, struggling. Yet their feelings were seemingly antithetical. The first little leaf felt a strange, subtle, lingering sort of angst and disgust knowing that the tree to which it belonged was not nearly as perfect. So many other leaves, so much imperfection. Such ugliness. Such an unfortunate mess for the tree as a whole to not be so beautiful, green, and thriving. The second little leaf felt a similar feeling for a very long time, but then realized that there was no leaf, there was only the tree. And while that tree might be flawed and ugly in some ways, as a whole, overall, it was magnificent and consummate - and all its imperfections made it ironically more perfect. Time passed, and the first little leaf had a similar insight - and a lasting, full sense of bliss and content. This leaf noticed a spot on its otherwise perfect form - such a tragic blemish. But soon the leaf reminded itself that there indeed was just the tree, and many other leaves, many leaves with far more blemishes, many leaves with far fewer, but overall, all in all, the tree was the tree, and that meant the purest form of beauty and wholeness one could possibly imagine. The leaf was all the leaves - all the brilliant and dull ones, all the green and brown ones, all the whole and tattered ones - everything. How silly it is, thought both little leaves, to get caught-up in such little feelings of imperfection and lack when all that really existed was the utter opposite.

Between my tears

Life’s arrears

Stand tall

As I duck down

In shame

Guilt

Loss

But what is

The future

Without

The past

What is

The past

Without you

Regrets

Are wishes

Dandelion seeds

Of truth

But purpose

Is here

And now

So what

Are we being told

In the wake

Of devastation

What is the wish

We fulfill

For her

On this site

I miss people

I don’t know

I never met

But whom I see

In their entirety

Because

We reveal ourselves

In these moments

We string together

Words

In code

AI

Could never

(hopefully)

Replicate

What does AI know

Of a first date

Of the sorrow

And beauty

Of seeing

A field

Of your deceased person’s

Favorite flower

Can AI

Walk with me

Drink with me

Cry with me?

It can’t

But what if

It could see me

Then what?

Can I forfeit

My downward spiral

And embrace

Uncharted territory

Or will my trepidation

Shackle me

To my past

Why

Am I so afraid

Of not being afraid

Where

Do I stand

While the future

Swirls

All around me

And the past

Alternately

Stabs me in the back

And won’t let go

It’s my own life

I live

Yet

Making

My own choices

I feel

As if

I’m stealing

From others

Why

Is this my mentality?

I’ve broken

So many times

I can’t see

The whole

Of who I am

Anymore

I used to pray

Someone

Would find me

Now

All I want

Is to find myself

I remember drunken writes

and broken days,

slurred poetry

and you always understood

the nonsense.

I bought you cookies once,

when you were at your lowest.

You didn't know I was too.

You held those crumbs,

grateful,

I was just glad that

it meant something.

We were etched in ink,

But more.

We were family in our own way.

You called me razzle

I called you an asshole.

We both laughed.

Ill miss our banter

The most.

And your stories in that

slurred southern accent.

And

Writing nonsense in gravity.

The sister I never had.

Wish I'd said it.

At least once.

Feels like a version of me

is lost with you.

One of my favorite parts.

I guess that's why we kill flowers.

Those wilting blooms are for those

That are forced to stay behind.

A reminder.

And So My flower fades.

And I say goodbye.

Knowing that part of me

Will follow you into the dirt,

My favorite friend.

I hope they serve cookies

Where u are.

And I hope they have strippers

And Woodford.

Thank you for everything.

I promise I will never forget

"Old Shells"

May the best of me

follow you down.

Or at least try.

And I will walk away

missing something.

No one will ever hit on my wife

Quite like you.

Or call me a dumbass

when I ramble.

You meant more

than I ever said.

And I'm sorry.

And So My flowers wilt.

May they follow you forever.

My dear friend.

Goodbye. And thank you

for all of it.

For everything to come

Thank you.

My dearest Shells.

I see her sitting at a pit stop in Kentucky. Her boots up, her wild whiskey grin. Laughing at the lot of us still trapped in this melancholy hell.

“I reckon you all have chills when I step up on you.”

Let me sink here in your tatted skin. “I’m not earthbound, anymore.”

Laughing at our bloodshot lives and wasted plans.

“I’m still here, somehow.”

Let my heart bleed out onto the kitchen floor

remembering her will

the pain of it.

”can you hear me?”

Her hopeless light of marigold

Her stubborn fight against the dying of the light.

”I’m with you, can you see me?”

Her death blowing a hole

straight through the universe

and shattering the moon.

”I love you all, I’m still here.”

We are stolen by her

memory

Our beloved

Shells

Her ghost forever

lives within those

of us who felt the

certain and sudden

drop

from

heaven

as her spirit

hit the sky

Rest now.

Shelley “Shells” Gilreath

May 18th 1981 - April 18th 2025

You know we were somewhere

You know the city smells like fire

And the streets here shine golden in the sun

But without

When I'm without

When I'm left with a head half open

To catch the extra rain

It's like icy water

And I'm falling backwards

Into the river

There are tears on my skin

There are tears on my skin

Metal handles, windy hair

Knuckles worn from holding the clouds

Windows and rows of teeth

Glimmering across the water

But without

Dog in a cage

Dying flower

Light behind our eyes

Without without without

Reason

There are tears

He knelt before Reverie Ash, wrists bound, head bowed.

The gold dust on the floor clung to the sweat on his skin, turning him into something half-statue, half-corpse.

Reverie stood over him, silent, hands clasped behind her back.

The room was empty but for the two of them. She had dismissed the guards — not out of mercy, but out of respect.

Some reckonings must be private.

“I loved you,” he whispered, voice breaking open like a wound. “I followed you. Everything you asked—”

He choked on his own breath.

Reverie tilted her head slightly, studying him like an interesting ruin.

“I never asked for anything,” she said, voice like steel skimming ice.

“I expected.”

The was a difference.

Fear stripped the color from his sky blue eyes when he raised his face to hers at last. But desperation still shone there. Hope clung like rot.

“It’s not too late,” he said. “You could choose a different way. We could still—”

She crouched in front of him in a single, fluid movement, her face mere inches from his.

He flinched.

She smiled.

“You think love is a leash,” she murmured. “You think loyalty is a negotiation.”

She reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, like a mother blessing a child.

“You don’t understand me at all.”

And then — almost tenderly — she pressed a blade, thin as a whisper, beneath his jaw.

Not to kill.

Not yet.

First, she wanted him to see it coming.

First, she wanted him to understand:

He hadn’t failed her by betraying her. He had failed himself by thinking she was someone who could be betrayed.

“You were never my equal,” she said, soft as a secret. “You were my shadow. And I am tired of dragging shadows behind me.”

When she stood again, wiping the blade clean on the edge of her cloak, the room smelled faintly of copper and crushed dreams.

She didn’t look back.

There was no need.

Reverie Ash never mourned what she had already outgrown.