Dicipio: The one who begins by deceiving, not others, but himself.

I am a seeker suspended in living waters-where language falters and memory speaks through bone. I drift not by choice, but by design: a vessel too porous to forget, too lucid to pretend.

Blessed by not being able to lie to myself. Even when it would spare me. Even when silence would be easier. I ache forward. I witness. I carry what others buried-until their ghosts hum in my spine and I call it truth.

I remember with my body what the world demands I forget. I speak aloud what was only ever meant to be swallowed. I feel the fracture behind every smile and still reach for love like it might not break me this time.

I write not to resolve, but to remain. To touch the unspeakable in its rawest form. To murmur back to the God who hides in cockroach wings, industrial dust, and all the things we're taught to look away from.

I am baptism and thirst. A question shaped like a wound. A wound shaped like a voice.

Time slips through me like water. Every word is a nerve, exposed. Every sentence, an act of refusal.

I am unfinished. Not because I lack,
but because I won't forget.