_NFJ prose poem

This is a prose poem about how ENFJ fears live under our softness, and how they stretch our hearts wider than we know how to name. I don’t usually have words for this, so I’m trying anyway. I'm ENFJ, but high Ni users might also resonate. I might delete my post later.
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Stars trembled in the swell of a dark maroon sky, while the sun poured silver through garnet currents, its warmth sinking into the shadows. My heart hung alone in space, the Earth spinning beneath it, horizons folding over one another, night and day melting into a single press of closeness. Slowly, the dark sky traces along my ribs, and the air begins to hum with neglect’s tenderness, sliding across my skin, ungraspable, impossible to hold.

My ribs ache with the pull of every absent hand, every lost fragment of hope, yet my eyes burned with the quiet insistence of life anchored by the thread I cannot sever. I kiss the outline of a hand that never held me, grazing its edges with a trembling devotion, letting my chest speak on what my voice cannot. I whisper my presence into what was lost and absent, folding myself into it with reverent devotion.

There’s a place where a stitched seam is sewn. Holding what dies and what must endure. From broken ruins, molten gold gathers, settling into the tender hush of my heart, a fragile thread of love holding all I cannot let go. Each thread trembles like frost-laced cobwebs, stretching me to the farthest corners of myself, where the tension trembles like loud church bells. The symphonic sound is patient yet unrelenting, insisting with a gentle assurance that no absence can claim me entirely. 

A galaxy stands naked in its garden of stars, unclothed and rejoicing with the delight of its own radiance, each light a bare spark of unabashed beauty. Naked, it shivers at the vast emptiness between, feeling the distance that cannot be bridged, exposed and unheld. Its tears fall into the void, tracing the fragile line between joy and shame, between being fully seen and utterly alone. Its own presence is too radiant to the core to hide. 

My soul is hung between where heaven meets the earth, stripped to its marrow, I stand naked in a place where death feels soft and too small to close its hands around me. Let it come with all its gentleness; it will find nothing it can conquer.