At nightfall, the moon forgets to rise,
shadows bloom where your laughter once lay.
I braid the wind with fragments of goodbyes,
whisper them into the crumbling day.
Silver thorns trace your name on my skin,
each pulse a cathedral of unraveling light.
Time drips slow where our stories begin,
bleeding violet into the mouth of night.
If dawn must come, let it shatter—
I’ll keep the shards, sharp and true.
For every star that falls, I gather
the echo of you.