Dominic Riccitello
May 21, 2026

this pulse is deep

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and i move with the way we transcend into bits and pieces of ourselves falling softly through the evening street lights flickering above us beneath the daze of where we left this the glow reflecting on pavement like memory refusing to fade quietly and i ask myself not now but maybe in another life one softer than this one one where timing did not arrive broken how do you walk forward without feeling the ground beneath you without noticing the pull of gravity the weight of existence the way everything constantly drags at us asking us to stay still yet i keep moving forward anyway this beat carries a sound i only hear sometimes on certain nights in certain silences deep inside the places where we abandoned parts of ourselves it echoes strangely there through unfinished conversations through rooms still holding warmth long after people leave them behind and i speak about moments as though they mean something larger but the truth is everything means something to me the color purple at dusk the silence of feet gliding across floors a dent left in the side of a car fog gathering beneath street signs the sound of someone exhaling beside you these things seem simple until you sit with them long enough until they begin opening inside your mind like doors you never noticed before and suddenly they become impossible to explain we take each day and force meaning into it because what is this life if we have nothing waiting for us nothing pulling us toward tomorrow i believe people gravitate toward one another because time quietly reveals affection without ever needing language for it the pulse deep in my stomach the tightening beneath my ribs i know you feel this too i can sense it in the pauses in the hesitation between your words i can feel your pulse trying to outrun itself beside mine and this is usually where people leave when things become too real when intimacy stops feeling poetic and starts feeling dangerous well i stay here but i know this kind of honesty terrifies people i find the horrors in our nights to be the most beautiful things we can offer one another the beat coming softly from the closet door the sound of legs wrapping together the tension living inside silence the way tongues twist against themselves not between mouths but inside the fear of speaking honestly when time becomes too real and one of us no longer knows what to say we twist through moments where time folds into itself where seconds stretch endlessly and we stare at each other half confused half exposed hesitation deepening beauty darkening at the edges because vulnerability always carries a little fear inside it and i feel time constantly not as clocks but as pressure as movement as the ache of becoming i think it is a simple thing really how we break in order to become how we look at one another when everything suddenly feels too real when you stand directly in front of me and i see you more clearly than you see yourself the mirrors bend the oceans pull the earth shifts quietly beneath us and we take each other fully only if both of us allow ourselves to be held