Disconnected
Your voice cracked faintly through the line,
“It's for the best,” you said, “you didn't do anything wrong.”
A click, then silence, sharp and bare,
And I was left with you nowhere.
I write to notice my life more closely. This space holds poetry, brief reflections, and pieces shaped by place and pause — the kind of writing that comes when I slow down enough to listen. Some of it is personal, some of it is observational.I write to remember, to release, and sometimes simply to mark that I was here, paying attention. This is a personal archive. You’re welcome to linger.
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