How do you process it. The thing. That one. That moment that fucked you up. It did. It fucked me up. Its Not What It Was Before. It was the first song that ripped through my heart - and today 

When the river runs dry and the curtain is called

How will I know if I can't see the bottom?

Come up for air and choke on it all

No one else knows that I've got a problem

(Sleep Token) 

It's like my chest being carved open - and yet I invite you in again and again because it's the closest I can get to the love, is the pain. It's still love, despite the way it cuts me apart in pieces. 

I finished what may be the last album today  Maiden,  Mother, Crone. All took part. 

Maiden = Believed 

Mother = Healing

Crone = Death by 1,000 cuts

I know I need something deeper, but it just cuts deeper into me. It never found the flesh of my soul but the flesh of my being. So laying here awake in my heart walking through life like a zombie .. trying to glue myself back together so I can breath again. I won't. The Moon cycles but she's dead. Crone, underground.  I bury the love deep inside the demon within me. She who craves love. I fight to breath, every day. 

You Smelled Like Promise (finale)

I miss you in strange places

like between sips of new beginnings,

or when silence sits too close.

It’s not just your voice I crave,

it’s the conversation

that back-and-forth dance we mastered

without a single rehearsal.

You smelled like promise.

Like familiarity wearing a leather jacket,

sweet with danger, soft with memory.

You smelled like whiskey and late-night confessions,

like laughter that covers up the bruise,

like a past that refuses to stay past.

We were a spark,

but not the kind that fades.

The kind that sets entire timelines on fire.

When we spoke,

the air around us leaned in.

Even the walls wanted to listen.

I miss the tension.

Not the fighting kind

but the pull,

like something invisible kept drawing me to you

even when I tried to look away.

Even when I swore I’d moved on.

Spoiler alert: I hadn’t.

Your name still fits in my mouth like a secret.

And my hands still remember the ghost of yours.

So if you ever wonder,

"Was any of it real?"

Just know:

It still echoes in here.

Louder than ever.

Even now

You smelled like promise.

Like familiarity wearing those aviator glasses 

Sweet with danger, soft with memory

You smelled like whiskey and our late-night confessions,

Like laughter that covers up the bruises,

like a promise, I just can't refuse

I promise that I'll just let go

But your smell lingers around in these halls like the promise of everything I've ever known .... 

- Barbara Christensen  / BΛRBIΞXX 2025