Our story ends where shadows fold:
Where the moon bleeds
And silence drapes itself over broken windows.
Within words we never spoke and promises that cracked
Collapsing the reality.
Time bends and fractures like a shattered mirror.
The stars retreat,
And in that infinite dark,
All that remains, is the echo of a story
That never truly belonged to the light.
We are echoes,
Bound to the marrow of the dark,
Our words stitched into the void
Like prayers no god will ever hear.
The shadows fold, and fold again,
Until nothing moves
But the memory of motion.
©Diana Mistera
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