BB Grey–musings

I wished for you to arrive in the shape of a moment,
not planned—just… happened.
But time, ever cryptic, wore the wrong watch that day.
I didn’t know you were already walking through my frequency,
your presence trembling inside a missed ring,
a number that never belonged to us.

No, not ours.
Let me trace it again in ink instead of static:
Eight-One-Eight. Four-Six-Eight. One-Zero-One.
Though even that dissolves—
as if connection were a hallway folding in on itself.

Still—Wednesday approaches,
and I have a ritual with white coats and paperwork.
I reshaped the day for healing,
just as the air still remembered your breath.

The doctor’s calendar bent.
A new pill appeared like a message from a dream.
My husband held it out like a truce—
its name unknown,
but its whisper was this:
Take it when the veil lifts, when the body begins to speak of you.

Author’s Note:
A voicemail was left for me—one of those strange, garbled transcripts that reads more like a riddle than a message. It was cryptic, tangled, and beautifully absurd, as if the universe had borrowed someone’s voice to pass me a secret I wasn’t supposed to fully understand. I found it oddly funny… and oddly profound.

This piece is my response—not so much a translation, but an echo back. A reflection shaped in symbols, details, and intuition. Like overhearing fate mumbling to itself and deciding to answer anyway.