A Love Letter to the House that I’m Building

In geometry, in a triangle, the given line is Mercury, the Angles are Sulphur, and the resultant triangle is Salt.

And as with you,

Your angles give me a deep sense of safety.

From a early on I knew,

I could trust you with my heart.

I’m longing for words,

To paint you a picture,

of my evolvement.

As this recognition is beyond symbols, where this is leading,

Is the unknown, which I know better than any other place.

It is the space of Love.

Which we are painting.

With our feelings,

Our Blood, tears and all the unmet parts of ourselves that came to see the untrue burn away.

All this clarity, all this becoming, all this exchanged energy, refined by the moment.

Is medicine, It is food for the soul.

Like how did that happen? What on earth is this level of satiation, that comes from recieving energy, from munching words sent to me? It is magic.

And this house that is in the building phase, is magnificent.

As the foundation is built from the Truth. There is not much there yet, visible, but it’s roots go deep. Into the earth, trough the underworld and into the very center of the cosmos. That is how strong houses are built.

Blueprints that we carry,

In our dna, in our avatar, embedded to the crystalline structure, hidden in the salt,

Which binds us to the earthly realm.

With these the new earth is built.

And it is through our Truth and dedication.

There is no bigger gift,

Than share this journey, even a part of it, with someone as dedicated as you.

No stone is unturned,

No fear unmet,

No feeling unfelt,

All of you is welcome here.

Not because all of you is easy.

Not because I will always understand what arrives through you, or because everything between us must be harmonious. But because I have no interest in meeting only the polished parts of another being. I want to know what happens when nothing needs to be exiled in order for Love to remain.

Maybe this is what makes the vessel strong.

Not the absence of fire, but its capacity to hold it.

Because a house built for Love cannot be made of materials that cannot withstand heat. It cannot depend on silence where truth wants to speak, or agreement where something deeper asks to be questioned. The walls must breathe. The doors must open. There must be enough space for two sovereign beings to move, change, disappear into their own depths and return carrying something neither of them possessed before.

This is where I begin to understand Salt differently.

Salt is what remains.

After the water has evaporated, after the fire has done its work, after everything volatile has risen and fallen and changed its form, something crystalline is left behind. Something that can be touched. Something that belongs to Earth.

And I feel this happening between us.

Something invisible keeps becoming substance.

A word becomes warmth in my body. A truth becomes trust. A fear spoken instead of hidden becomes another stone in the foundation. Something you reveal changes the architecture inside me, and something I send toward you returns transformed, carrying traces of both of us.

This is the strangest kind of nourishment.

We are eating each other without consuming each other.

Taking in what has been metabolised through another human life: years of grief, devotion, mistakes, longing, discipline, destruction, tenderness, terror, beauty. All of it somehow compressed into a few sentences arriving on a screen, and suddenly my whole being is fed.

How absurdly intimate words can become when they contain Blood.

Not performance.

Not seduction.

Not carefully manufactured closeness.

Blood.

The actual substance of a life.

And this is why I do not know where this is leading, nor do I need to know. The mind wants to draw the completed house before the foundation has even settled. It wants doors, names for the rooms, measurements, destinations. But something deeper in me has learned to love the building phase.

Stone by stone.

Truth by truth.

I know the unknown well enough now not to fill it prematurely.

The blueprint does not need to be understood by the brick.

There is an intelligence already moving through this. The same intelligence that knows how salt crystallises, how roots find water in darkness, how a wound closes, how matter organises itself around invisible laws. We participate in it, but we did not invent it.

Maybe this is what I recognise in you.

Not a destination.

Something with which I can build.

Something that responds to pressure without immediately breaking, that can enter the furnace without demanding the fire be extinguished, that understands that transformation is not always gentle even when Love is.

I’m here for you.

Not someone who saves you from your descent, but someone who can leave a candle burning at the entrance. Someone who does not become frightened when you return covered in earth. Someone who knows that sometimes the most loving thing is not to pull another person toward the light, but to trust what they are finding in the dark.

Because I know that place.

I have built altars there.

I have slept there.

I have died there enough times to know that the underworld is not the opposite of Love.

Sometimes it is where Love goes to retrieve what was abandoned.

And maybe this is why the roots of this house must pass through it.

Nothing exiled beneath the floorboards.

Nothing rotting secretly inside the walls.

Nothing declared too ugly, too hungry, too frightened, too much.

Bring it.

Let us see what survives the fire.

Let Sulphur burn.

Let Mercury move.

Let Salt remember.

And from everything that remains true, we build.

Not a perfect house.

Not a finished house.

Not even a house whose final form we need to know.

A living one.

A place where Truth has weight.

Where Love has structure.

Where freedom does not require distance and intimacy does not require captivity.

A place where I can look at everything that you are becoming and say:

There is room.

And where I can bring everything that I am becoming and hear the same.

That is the magnificence I can already feel in something that barely exists in the visible world.

The house is still mostly underground.

But I can feel its foundations.

And they are deep.