BB Grey–musings

October 21, 2025

I tried to find meaning in the numbers today,
arranging them forward and backward,
stacking them like tired integers.
They all fall in their twenties,
and perhaps that is meaning enough.

Today is like any other day
only in this: it will not return.
This notch on the yardstick of time,
rigid, measured, singular,
exists for me alone.
The One who set it in motion
stands outside its boundaries:
beyond start, beyond end,
beyond anything we imagine.
And what is that to us,
who cannot even say
where time begins,
or if our meeting truly ends?

But you—you existed here with me once.
Somewhere along this measured line,
our moments aligned.
A ray, a vector into the unknown.
An intersection: two lines crossing in a flash of light.
Then parallel, paths aligned but never touching,
always a breath apart.
Yet there, in that bend of time,
we shared a point of light.

I have been grateful for you,
for all the moments our lines touched.
If we could map our journey
across the blackboard of the night sky,
we might trace bright spots:
stars born, giants collapsed,
black holes swallowing light,
warping the very fabric we walk upon.

But morning fades the stars too far to keep.
Only one sun burns close,
the one we call home.
I am Mars,
red, weathered, marked by extremes.
You, Venus,
veiled in cloud and mystery.
Two worlds, different yet bound,
once dancing in the same light.

They say they’ve found evidence on me—
water, once.
Traces of what could have been life,
now frozen in time.

Perhaps that is what we are:
an intersection preserved,
a moment held in the dust of memory,
a signal still echoing
long after the planets have turned
their faces away.