People you love through the days, accumilated,
eaaccumulated, hue
your being,
the patches, hemmed
reminders
enclosed
Within me
With every of any at dusk,
they become of your journey,
Maddism
with eyes
This grounding presence,
reassurance,
They like wings of doubt.
In the company, od
bringing life to earth,
souls.
Together,
belonging.
Within
you find your rhythm,
the of togetherness,
days—
the evening sigh
,(fuck is this)
in small corners of conversation,
on
the of a
silence.
behind it all,
like a delicate undercurrent,
a reminder on the
in the quiet of late-night talks,
in the mornings that folding connection,
is a story, the tale of being alive, now dead, into no existence,though breathing,
The tiredness of the inhale
and
exhale
,is
exhausting
each day
a new
folding, canvas
waiting for more,
souls
Dead
intertwined, Of nurtured
grace,
and the infinite
possibility
People you love through the days,
each fabric of your being,
the moments,
reminders
enclosed in
With every laugh under the sun,
each whispered secret at dusk,
they become the threads of your journey,
with eyes that see the shadows,
and hearts that warm the chill of night.
This grounding presence,
reassurance like a gentle breeze,
the soft echo of shared stories,
woven into the tapestry of time,
rooted in the soil of memory.
They carry the weight of your laughter,
the lightness of unspoken dreams,
Liven it
The familiar rhythm—
binding you to the life you know.
Steps taken side by side,
through seasons that change like
each path called home,
Any where you were
Now and that were ,the precise as was it
Now not
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