Have I truly moved away, or am I just becoming a shadow in time
Have I truly moved away, or am I just becoming a shadow in time,
like a ghost forgetting it was once flesh and blood,
my laughter is louder now, but only in places where your echo doesn't reach,
I say I'm fine, as if wielding a language of illusions and other worlds.
I've closed the paths to you, yet I still read our words like prayers,
and my fingers float over your name—
a threshold from which I've fallen, once and again.
Healing should be like a smooth flight, shouldn't it?
But sometimes, pain changes shape like a cloud breaking into rain,
it hides in the silence of music, in days stretching like an endless road,
in pretending that "empty" means "peace" and "quiet."
I no longer seek you. Not truly, just enough to know you breathe without me—
and that my absence no longer hurts you as it once hurt me.
I sleep, but my sleep is just a dreamless night,
I smile, but I carry no light in the corners of my soul.
I meet others, but I don't feel the warmth of true emotion,
I've moved away—but only towards a horizon that doesn't know our hope,
and still, I rise, not for an end, not for you—
but to learn to understand the woman I become in this dance of solitude.
Perhaps this isn't healing, but just the art of carrying the memory,
without letting it carry me in its whirlpool,
a balance between forgetting and living with the shadows that dance in the light of the past,
and finding a new light in the darkness surrounding me, boundless and silent.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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