โ๐ฎ๐๐ถ๐๐๐น ๐ฒ๐พ๐๐ฝ ๐๐ฝ๐ ๐๐๐ฝ๐๐โ
๐ฏ๐ฝ๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐
He left
like a storm that never apologized
for the flood.
But I stayed with the ashes.
I swept up the pieces of promises,
held them in my palms
like they were sacred scripture.
I stayed
when the fire died,
when the warmth turned to warning,
when the silence screamed louder than his goodbye.
He vanished
left echoes in my bones,
left me to bury the version of me
that begged to be seen.
But I stayed with the ashes.
Not because Iโm weak
but because I know how to mourn
and still rise.
Because I know how to turn soot
into ink,
and write my own resurrection.
Because I am the altar,
the flame,
the phoenix.
And he?
He was just smoke.