We meet where the road forgets its name, Beneath a sky stitched shut with rain. No fanfare, no flame—just breath and bone, And silence worn like skin we’ve outgrown. Your eyes are maps of all I left behind, Torn at the edges, blurred by time. I reach—not to hold, but to confirm You’re real, and not another ghost I’ve sworn. We speak in embers, low and slow, Words that thaw, then freeze again below. The past is a room with all doors barred, Yet here we stand in its broken yard. Do you remember how the fire sang? How shadows danced before they sprang? We were gods then, or fools—perhaps the same— Now just echoes calling each other’s name. So let the wind take what it will: Our reunion is ash… and still, It warms me.
