The Cadence of Us
Traded love in prose
January, 2026
Midnight sounds like a war zone in the future. Fire is hard to hold. I wonder if the barrier is our feelings, or my action that Tuesday morning. I wonder if there’s a difference.
I tell myself I ask for nothing. I tell you to bask in the loyal gravity of your family, to let their love keep you through the night. I mean it. I really do. And still—I hope for small drips. I hope and then pretend I don’t.
Music makes its case. Some of it reaches upward, frantic and bright. Some of it stays low, sensual, deliberate—like breath slowed to match another body’s sleep. I don’t know if I’m projecting or if the names were always true. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Everything sounds like you lately.
I start new months just to keep us contained. New notebooks. New pages pierced. Proof of motion. Proof I’m still here.
I want to stay up and watch the year change with you, to kiss you in the anti-celebration, but my light fades. I nap. I dream. I wake. I keep missing you forward in time.
Sometimes you say you’re writing from oblivion. Sometimes from home. Sometimes from a hot tub you didn’t need. Wherever you are, I’m rain with nowhere to fall.
The days fill anyway: parks, museums, long meals spoken through borrowed language and glowing screens. I work to be understood. I am exhausted and electrified by it. I kiss a host because he tells me it’s the custom and resists like it’s a sport. We laugh. We live. We go on.
At night the fire starts. Wind permitting. Wood stacked. Stars overhead. Passion chosen for the day—urgent, incandescent, already tragic. Love written like destiny with a clock ticking somewhere offstage.
I walk alone to balconies that pretend they remember Juliet. I listen. I imagine. I let the music decide what to do with me.
Sometimes I wonder if you are real.
Sometimes loving you feels like standing at the edge of a lake at night, watching reflections burn.
Love as starlight.
Love as fate.
Love arriving too late
and still arriving
all the same.
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
