Being able to sit in stillness was something so foreign to me until I began to heal. It’s a deep knowing that I am enough just as I am, without all of the conditioning to try to compete. I love the sound of silence now.
This poem met me exactly where my addiction lives.
The fog you describe — the adaptation, the loss of friction, the quiet sliding into numbness — is the state I lived inside long before substances entered the picture, and the state addiction helped me maintain for a long time. Not peace. Not relief. Density. Disappearance that looked like functioning.
What broke me open was the pressure you name beneath that shell, and the moment it finally cracks. That “restoring fissure” felt painfully true to how change actually came for me — not gently, not because I wanted it, but because addiction stopped numbing and started hurting, and the truth broke through anyway.
Reading this didn’t make me analyze my life. It let me see it — how much of it was shaped inside that fog, and why the rupture mattered. I’m in a tender, early place right now, and this poem named that transition with an accuracy I didn’t have language for before.
And thank you for painting something so devastating so beautifully without losing the devastation.
Samu—
Your essay met me from a steadier place than the poem did — and that mattered.
Reading this, I recognized the state you’re writing from: after rupture, after collapse, when being is no longer something to escape or fight, but something that can be observed and lived inside without urgency. The way you describe addiction losing its grip, not through force but through clarity, mirrored how I’m learning to relate to my own patterns now — noticing them as they arise and responding with awareness rather than identity or judgment.
This didn’t activate me. It grounded me. It felt like standing beside someone who knows how to remain present without demanding resolution, and that presence mattered more than reassurance. Thank you for naming being as something that can hold without asking for proof.
About the collaboration experience as a whole—
I wanted to name something separately, because it doesn’t belong to either piece alone.
Reading these back to back put me in a very specific state — not panic, not fear, but full-body activation that felt like being seen from two directions at once. One naming the fog and rupture that shaped my life; the other naming what remains when striving falls away.
Sitting inside both at the same time didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt clarifying. Tender, intense, and grounding in a way that’s hard to describe, but honest. I wanted to say that out loud, because that state felt like part of the collaboration too.
What a beautiful piece to read, and the way formatting is played with in the poem really adds to the feel and emotion of it. Also, I love how the poem, art, and essay all interweaves together to create a piece that flows and doesn't feel disjointed at all. Just really great work here!
Thank you, Wildflower 🤍
for holding this space together.
Being, without performance, without becoming.
I’m grateful for this shared quiet.
Me as well. Working with you always is a pleasure, Samu! 🤍
Beautiful ♥️
Thank you so much, Merveye!! 🩶
Being able to sit in stillness was something so foreign to me until I began to heal. It’s a deep knowing that I am enough just as I am, without all of the conditioning to try to compete. I love the sound of silence now.
I am able to just BE
Thank you for feeling this, Amy!! 🖤
Life is a continuous state of becoming. This is an eloquently written song of sacred transformations.
Thank you so much, Rea!! 🤍
Such piercing love and rawness runs through your images and words. This arises for me after reading: the sacred stillness of being fully alive.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Ana Cristina!! 🤍
Very beautiful. Yes it breaks open and it is raw and raff. Beneath that there is the softness of being, while everything shakes.
Thanks so much, Elisabeth!! 🤍
Lovely collaboration.
Thanks so much, Holly!! 🖤
Very beautiful and thoughtful, Wildflower. Typical of your poetry and artistry.
Thank you so much, Kelly. That’s so kind of you. 🤍
You’re welcome, wildflower. Very well deserved.
🤍🤍🤍
Wildflower —
This poem met me exactly where my addiction lives.
The fog you describe — the adaptation, the loss of friction, the quiet sliding into numbness — is the state I lived inside long before substances entered the picture, and the state addiction helped me maintain for a long time. Not peace. Not relief. Density. Disappearance that looked like functioning.
What broke me open was the pressure you name beneath that shell, and the moment it finally cracks. That “restoring fissure” felt painfully true to how change actually came for me — not gently, not because I wanted it, but because addiction stopped numbing and started hurting, and the truth broke through anyway.
Reading this didn’t make me analyze my life. It let me see it — how much of it was shaped inside that fog, and why the rupture mattered. I’m in a tender, early place right now, and this poem named that transition with an accuracy I didn’t have language for before.
And thank you for painting something so devastating so beautifully without losing the devastation.
Samu—
Your essay met me from a steadier place than the poem did — and that mattered.
Reading this, I recognized the state you’re writing from: after rupture, after collapse, when being is no longer something to escape or fight, but something that can be observed and lived inside without urgency. The way you describe addiction losing its grip, not through force but through clarity, mirrored how I’m learning to relate to my own patterns now — noticing them as they arise and responding with awareness rather than identity or judgment.
This didn’t activate me. It grounded me. It felt like standing beside someone who knows how to remain present without demanding resolution, and that presence mattered more than reassurance. Thank you for naming being as something that can hold without asking for proof.
About the collaboration experience as a whole—
I wanted to name something separately, because it doesn’t belong to either piece alone.
Reading these back to back put me in a very specific state — not panic, not fear, but full-body activation that felt like being seen from two directions at once. One naming the fog and rupture that shaped my life; the other naming what remains when striving falls away.
Sitting inside both at the same time didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt clarifying. Tender, intense, and grounding in a way that’s hard to describe, but honest. I wanted to say that out loud, because that state felt like part of the collaboration too.
I’m really touched by how precisely you named what lives between the poem and the essay.
Knowing that the work could meet you in that tender, early place means more to me than I can say.
I have no words to describe how much your comment touched me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Brandy!! ❤️
What a beautiful piece to read, and the way formatting is played with in the poem really adds to the feel and emotion of it. Also, I love how the poem, art, and essay all interweaves together to create a piece that flows and doesn't feel disjointed at all. Just really great work here!
Thank you so much for reading and commenting so kindly, Hazel! It’s much appreciated!! 🩶
Beautiful! Great work to both of you, and I find that the photos really complement and reinforce the essence of the writing.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting so kindly, Aaron!!
Breathtaking
Thank you so much, Kelly!! 🤍
both powerful and visually beautiful!
Thank you so much, Elaine!! 🩶
What a fantastic collab! I loved it.
Thank you so much, Logan!! 🖤
Brava! What an incred colab! Well done you two! 💖💖💖
Thank you so much, Jody!! 🩶
I’ve never seen this phenomenon so deftly and gorgeously articulated:
“Addiction gave me wings
and took the sky at the same time.
Closeness did not save me.
It only taught me
how deeply solitude can breathe.”
Thank you.
Thank you so much, Sureya!! 🤍
Thank you for reading so closely. 🤍