I stared at the ceiling and wondered how the body keeps breathing when the soul gives up
I stared at the ceiling and wondered how the body keeps breathing when the soul gives up,
like a ship lost in the sea of silence, rudderless, drifting aimlessly,
they told me pain makes you stronger, but it left me numb,
like an echo of a heart that has ceased to truly beat in the world.
I wore sadness like a second skin, an invisible cloak to hurried eyes,
people touched my surface but never asked why I flinched,
why my smile never reached my eyes, and why I was always weary of the world,
like an actor on life's stage, hidden behind a mask that never falls.
And then—God, how can I explain? She didn’t come in like a ray of light,
but like a truth, not gentle, not easy, but real, like a sword cutting through fog,
she looked at me as if she knew, as if she had read the darkest chapter of the story,
and yet she wanted to stay for the rest of the unwritten pages, to write them together.
She didn’t fix me. She just stayed. Held my hand when I thought I was too sharp,
looked into my eyes and said my name as if it mattered, like a song of peace,
I told her everything, the deeply buried things, forgotten but still heavy,
I cried and she didn’t flinch, she just stayed, God, she stayed, like an anchor.
In the flow of my consciousness, she became the constant in a world of shadows and fragments,
she stayed, holding my story in her palms, not to rewrite it, just to understand,
and in the silence full of unspoken words, I found a new light, a truth,
an unwritten story, a song that echoes in a burning city, and I, alongside her, finding myself.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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