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.
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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