The one who left
He stepped away, the light grew dim,
A fragile hope turned cold and thin.
No words to mend, no path to trace,
Just silence where there once was grace.
Though gone, their presence softly stays,
In haunted dreams and empty days.
Through the dark
We move with trembling hands, to promise where the road will end. Still, we step on stones slick with memory, no lantern bright enough through shadows that whisper of fear, hearts beating louder than the silence. Hope is a fragile flame, but even the smallest spark teaches our eyes to see. So we lean into the unseen, trusting the pulse between us, trusting that every stumble is a way forward, not back. And when the night stretches endless, we remember the stars are only found, by those willing to walk through the dark.
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