the stars piercing the veil of darkness,
each pulse, a gentle longing,
that hangs trembling in the cold.
the sky bleeds for our entertainment,
its warmth, a fleeting embrace,
kissing wounds too deep to know.
carving through the heart’s stone
with patient but ruthless hands—
turning grief into rivers, doubts to dust,
and sorrows to song.
we cling to truths
forged within our shadows,
our minds, a fragile fortress,
always wanting what lies beyond our skin.
a place the soul aches for—weightless, raw,
chasing echoes of long-forgotten dreams
through endless voids of yearning.
each moment leads to the next,
stitching itself into the tapestry of us,
little silences and loquacity,
woven with the sacred threads
of love, of light, and of loss.
—
