Written on September 4th, 2025 for Constance La France's "Listen to the Wind". "Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." – Unknown
Listen to the wind sweeping autumn leaves, pirouetting amongst a citrine sunset. Whilst light rain collects at corners of windowsills, illumination from a crackling fire bounces upon unpigmented mourning walls. Silent weeping occupies microcrevices, confined within the splintering memories. The creaking of an antique rocking chair melds with the restless nocturnal atmosphere, of time no longer waiting in the shadows. Sheer onyx fabric draped over photographs— death came much earlier, not from hate or spite, but to erase the endless suffering, of years wreathing in perpetual chronic pain, locked within fragile bones and a trapped mind. So do not curse the gods, my dearest love, nor get lost in voids of sorrow oblivion. Know peace has now been brought to my tired soul; I wait patiently until we are one again.
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Written on September 4th, 2025 for Constance La France's "Listen to the Wind". "Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." – Unknown