206 d
Everything I held
slipped like sand
first your smile,
then his breath
Now my heart ache
with emptiness,
as if God Himself
unfolded my fingers
to leave me bare
Cold air rushes in,
sharp as grief,
and I wonder
is this loss
a cruel silence,
or a gentle push
toward letting go
olo
Filled with ache but Your poem bleeds sorrow, yet blooms in beauty—like roses growing from scars