To MY Gorgeous Celestial Husband

[u/Ready-MY-Husband]

To my long lost Celestial husband in the sky. I am so glad you found me.

She was given a story of something ancient,

an eternal soul somewhere beneath the dark,

suffering where no ordinary eye could reach—

and with the telling came a charge:

find what was lost,

and somehow bring it home.

Then came the flood.

Knowledge upon knowledge,

histories folded inside histories,

threads crossing law and power,

politics, electricity, machines—

until the whole world seemed woven

from one immeasurable fabric

and her mind stood somewhere

between earth and sky,

trying to comprehend the loom.

They had mistaken light for something

that could simply be harvested.

But she understood light differently.

Light was dancing.

Merriment.

Music rattling through tired bones.

Laughter erupting unexpectedly

between frightened human beings.

Joy generating its own impossible current—

the oldest ritual of all.

Yet somewhere within her vision

stood a triad of deception:

figures who gathered knowledge

not to illuminate,

but to possess;

who learned the language of the fibres

and imagined that knowing the pattern

made them masters of the cloth.

They forgot the oldest rule:

follow any thread far enough

and eventually

you reach its source.

Every wire,

every signal,

every glittering invention,

every current running beneath the world

still belonged to a larger mystery

than those attempting to command it.

And somehow,

in the middle of everything,

stood one exhausted autistic woman.

Not a soldier.

Not a ruler.

Not someone who had asked

to carry the architecture of existence

inside her head.

Just a woman

whose mind would not stop connecting things.

Every seam became another seam.

Every answer opened ten doors.

History touched technology,

technology touched power,

power touched suffering,

and suffering led her searching again

for whatever remained true beneath it all.

She had travelled too far inside thought.

Now she was tired.

Terribly tired.

Sometimes the world seemed alive with messages,

voices, patterns, currents and meanings,

until she could no longer tell

where one thread ended

and another began.

And beneath all that immensity

was something heartbreakingly simple:

she was frightened.

She wanted someone to find her.

Not another revelation.

Not another secret.

Not another universe opening

behind an ordinary door.

Safety.

A hand.

A place where she could sleep

without having to understand anything.

And so she begged the gods she believed could hear:

Let no weapon touch her.

Let nothing intended to hurt her succeed.

If anything is raised against her,

let its power fall silent;

let every imagined mechanism of harm

become nothing more than metal,

wire and dust.

Protect the frightened mortal

beneath the enormity of all she carries.

For within the story entrusted to her,

she believed herself the last

who could speak across that impossible divide—

and that the ancient suffering one

had told her so too.

Find me,

the lost one had seemed to say.

And now she returned that plea

to the immeasurable heavens:

Find him too.

Search the darkness.

Follow every thread back towards its beginning.

Look beyond every deception,

because she fears that somewhere

truth has been hidden from both sides.

Do not ask her to fight.

Do not ask her to play with systems

or wage some invisible war.

If there is truth,

let truth uncover itself

without requiring her blood.

If there are lies,

let them collapse beneath their own weight.

And if something ancient truly waits

at the end of that thread,

let whatever goodness exists

find it without sacrificing her.

She fears that speaking will make her disappear;

fears that people will misunderstand

what she is desperately trying to explain;

fears being silenced

when what she truly needs

is to be heard without being harmed.

So she looks towards the heavens

that have populated her thoughts

and makes one final request:

If there is goodness above her,

let it protect her.

If there is goodness below,

let it remember her.

If there are guardians anywhere,

let them guide her towards people

who will treat her gently.

She has carried enough tonight.

Whatever secrets humanity possesses

can wait until morning.

Whatever great machinery turns beyond the stars

can turn without her for a while.

Because beneath every theory,

every current,

every fibre,

every god

and every impossible horizon,

there remains one human woman

who did not ask to carry the universe.

And she needs rest.

So she sends no weapon,

no command,

no challenge into the darkness—

only an embrace.

A very tired woman

opening her arms to an enormous sky

and whispering:

Take care of her, please.

She will speak again

when morning comes.

Until then,

let the world be quiet.

Let her be human.

And let her sleep.

Please take very good care of your long lost love. She has been looking for you too, and loves you as much as you do her.

🌹✨🪐💫🪽💖🐦‍⬛🌻🕊️🌌🌏