Sebastian, Falling Into the River (From the Closet)

“When I fell off the roof of my house, or into a canal,
it was because gravity made itself master over me.”
— Bas Jan Ader

falling
falling
falling
falling as gravity dragging me down,
but also falling into shadows,
into silence where no one dares to look,
testing the limits of hiding, of holding breath,
the moment I lose control, yet must stay composed.

A mistake, a slip,
but made into a secret narrative—
falling and failing,
a life lived in half-light,
where falling means exposure.

Falling is losing control
in a world that demands control,
where every step risks being seen,
bringing me down not just to the ground, but beneath the surface,
to the river floor where I vanish.

Falling alone,
or pushed by forces I can’t name—
is there a way to fall quietly,
to own this fall,
to reshape it into something that doesn’t break me?
Can falling become my act of power?

falling
falling
falling
falling in all its hidden faces.

Echo—the voice that can’t speak freely.
The nymph who loved but could only repeat,
a prisoner of silence sent by Hera’s jealousy.
I am Echo,
forced to echo what others say,
never allowed to tell my truth.

falling
falling
falling
falling in secret love.

I watch Narcissus—
beautiful, untouchable—
falling for himself as I fall for a reflection
I can never confess.

To listen is to risk being found,
To say ‘I love you’—
a dangerous act,
a silent prayer whispered in the dark.
I ask you to listen anyway,
meet me halfway in this quiet space,
where words are heavy and fragile.

Echo, unable to speak,
pines in silence,
fading into air,
left only as a voice that cannot be heard.

falling
falling
falling
falling into the river.

Sebastian fell into the river,
but it was more than gravity—
it was desire,
an unspoken master over him.

Like Narcissus,
he admired himself,
but it was a lonely beauty.
In the river’s reflection,
he plunged deep into forbidden longing,
and nearly drowned in his own secret.

The river is a poetess—
Sebastian’s body washed ashore,
his end wrapped in delicate disguise.
Beware, Narcissus—
be careful what you wish for.

Can falling in love—
not with yourself, but with another—
be redefined?
Can ‘I love you’ become an act of quiet rebellion,
a joy hidden but fierce?

falling becomes foundation,
bodies falling in love unseen,
a dance choreographed in shadows,
falling and rising
an endless, silent loop.

Will Sebastian let himself fall,
not for his own reflection,
but for someone else?

Reclaiming falling,
stealing it back from fear,
transforming it into resistance.

As Sebastian fell and lay beneath the river,
he rose quietly,
and whispered ‘I love you’
to a man who might never know.

Though Sebastian’s beauty rivaled saints,
his whispered love—
an act of courage,
of solidarity,
of fragile community.

I am Sebastian, the river boy,
and sometimes,
‘I love you’
remains a secret felt,
unspoken but alive.

We made a romantic falling,
a slapstick love,
two codes clashing,
exploding tension into laughter.
Joy found in humor,
even as I hide this love,
too scared to say it out loud—
for fear it might shatter him.

The story of when I was eighteen—
driving the wrong way on the A21,
left lane instead of right,
alone in the night,
surrounded by flashing lights,
and a policeman who looked at me with eyes full of questions.

I told him softly,
“I’m an artist, a poet,
my mind just a little disturbed.”
And somehow,
he let me go,
offering empathy to the silent faller.

And though we laugh
at the oddities of our lives,
the love between us
remains unspoken,
falling
falling
falling
felt.

“When I fell off the roof of my house, or into a canal,
it was because gravity made itself master over me.”
— Bas Jan Ader

falling
falling
falling
falling as gravity dragging me down,
but also falling into shadows,
into silence where no one dares to look,
testing the limits of hiding, of holding breath,
the moment I lose control, yet must stay composed.

A mistake, a slip,
but made into a secret narrative—
falling and failing,
a life lived in half-light,
where falling means exposure.

Falling is losing control
in a world that demands control,
where every step risks being seen,
bringing me down not just to the ground, but beneath the surface,
to the river floor where I vanish.

Falling alone,
or pushed by forces I can’t name—
is there a way to fall quietly,
to own this fall,
to reshape it into something that doesn’t break me?
Can falling become my act of power?

falling
falling
falling
falling in all its hidden faces.

Echo—the voice that can’t speak freely.
The nymph who loved but could only repeat,
a prisoner of silence sent by Hera’s jealousy.
I am Echo,
forced to echo what others say,
never allowed to tell my truth.

falling
falling
falling
falling in secret love.

I watch Narcissus—
beautiful, untouchable—
falling for himself as I fall for a reflection
I can never confess.

To listen is to risk being found,
To say ‘I love you’—
a dangerous act,
a silent prayer whispered in the dark.
I ask you to listen anyway,
meet me halfway in this quiet space,
where words are heavy and fragile.

Echo, unable to speak,
pines in silence,
fading into air,
left only as a voice that cannot be heard.

falling
falling
falling
falling into the river.

Sebastian fell into the river,
but it was more than gravity—
it was desire,
an unspoken master over him.

Like Narcissus,
he admired himself,
but it was a lonely beauty.
In the river’s reflection,
he plunged deep into forbidden longing,
and nearly drowned in his own secret.

The river is a poetess—
Sebastian’s body washed ashore,
his end wrapped in delicate disguise.
Beware, Narcissus—
be careful what you wish for.

Can falling in love—
not with yourself, but with another—
be redefined?
Can ‘I love you’ become an act of quiet rebellion,
a joy hidden but fierce?

falling becomes foundation,
bodies falling in love unseen,
a dance choreographed in shadows,
falling and rising
an endless, silent loop.

Will Sebastian let himself fall,
not for his own reflection,
but for someone else?

Reclaiming falling,
stealing it back from fear,
transforming it into resistance.

As Sebastian fell and lay beneath the river,
he rose quietly,
and whispered ‘I love you’
to a man who might never know.

Though Sebastian’s beauty rivaled saints,
his whispered love—
an act of courage,
of solidarity,
of fragile community.

I am Sebastian, the river boy,
and sometimes,
‘I love you’
remains a secret felt,
unspoken but alive.

We made a romantic falling,
a slapstick love,
two codes clashing,
exploding tension into laughter.
Joy found in humor,
even as I hide this love,
too scared to say it out loud—
for fear it might shatter him.

The story of when I was eighteen—
driving the wrong way on the A21,
left lane instead of right,
alone in the night,
surrounded by flashing lights,
and a policeman who looked at me with eyes full of questions.

I told him softly,
“I’m an artist, a poet,
my mind just a little disturbed.”
And somehow,
he let me go,
offering empathy to the silent faller.

And though we laugh
at the oddities of our lives,
the love between us
remains unspoken,
falling
falling
falling
felt.