It's Still Life

17 of 27: The Liturgy for Ruinlit – Courage Mistaken for Recklessness

I. The Edge
Not chaos—but its twin:
the flicker at the blaze’s hem,
where air whispers now
and earth hisses no.

Ruinlit is the step taken
when the choice is burn or run.
You will blister.
But you will not bend.

II. The Glint
They call it madness—
this fire in your iris,
this sprint toward collapse.

But you know the difference
between recklessness
and resurrection.
Some bridges exist
only to light the way.

III. The Leap
The body obeys the heart.
The heart obeys the deeper flame—
the one that licks bone clean.

This isn’t falling.
It’s homecoming.

IV. The Reckoning
It hurts.
It always hurts.
But there is no courage without consequence,
no recklessness without reason.
Ruinlit is what happens
when the soul pegs its breath
to the body’s last good risk —
and exhales anyway.

V. The Sky
You burn the bridge.
You walk into the ruin.
The world gasps—

Ruinlit answers:
Because the sky is wider
when you stop counting exits.

VI. Be Unrepentant
Be raw.
Be radiant noise.
Be a soul that stays whole
rather than scripted.

Let the scorch marks
tell the story—
not the scars.

VII. The Aftermath
You are the wildfire
that teaches the forest
how to breathe again.

When the smoke clears,
you are not destruction.
You are the unmaking
that comes before the art.

VIII. The Unwritten
Felreil hesitates here.
Ink blots the margin:

Some ruins aren’t meant to be read,
but lived.

You are not reckless.
You are ritual.

Every ash pile is a poem.
Every scar, a song.

Run toward the next ruin.
The sky has been waiting
to see what colour
you’ll paint it this time.

IX. And Finally
Let them call it madness.
Let them call it waste.

You know the truth:
Ruinlit is the only language
the gods still answer—
in blood
and bloom.

Ruinlit is the colour
of a soul that refuses
to apologise
for its own light.