May we speak of fullness, and of amplitude?
Or,
mere intensity and lack?
Of certainty, not. Buried, yes. Suppressed, but not invisible.
What was: now only traces, tracks of energy in liminal mind, itself the inconsequential armature of be-ing.
Released to the future, tracing a trajectory not governed by arc, origin, or knowing; the unknown entering that mind, leaving Light and uncertain matter.
You impressed on me your broken self-love and absolute certainty in every moment and I remember it all, forever.