#howdoesonestop

To be seen as I once was seen, in golden light, not in between— those early days, that thrilling run, the dance, the spark, the reckless fun.

We spoke in silence, touched in thought, in feelings neither of us caught. The kind who feel but rarely show, yet somehow then, we seemed to know.

The roots we formed still leave their trace, soft echoes time cannot erase. Though winds have moved the ground below, some seeds remain from long ago.

But colors fade when feelings don’t, and promises that linger—won’t. Still, I recall that sweet unrest, the ache that bloomed inside my chest.