There is still a trace of my own perfume in the air, a signature no one else could ever wear. And somewhere beneath all the changes, my dance is still alive. The same rhythm, the same fire, only softer now. There is something quietly intoxicating about becoming a stranger to your old fears. About discovering that longing doesn't always ask to be answered. Sometimes it simply wants to be witnessed.
For many months now, this song has lived beneath my skin and under every prayer that never needed words. Maybe healing was never about forgetting. Maybe it is about becoming a place where love no longer asks, no longer proves, no longer pleads... only waits with quiet hands, gentle enough to hold another wounded soul when the moment is finally right.
Perhaps some stories are never over. Perhaps they are only learning a different rhythm.
I don't chase echoes anymore. If a soul remembers mine, it will know the way.
