Night sits over the water like a hand trying not to tremble.
The lake keeps a soft pulse, as if someone once loved here and left the sound behind.
Color drifts across the valley, sugared blues, bruised reds, too tender for daylight, too bright to sleep.
A mountain wears a ring of heat, a quiet fever.
The trees hold their breath the way people do when they’re about to say the right thing and don’t.
Above them, small planets float like overdue apologies. No one asks where they’re going. They leave anyway.
The moon is a coin with the center missing, a window cut out of sky.
I look through it and there’s nothing, and the nothing is honest.
If I could lie to the water, I’d tell it I’m fine. The water would believe me. It believes everything that sinks.
Colors keep arriving with no names and I think of the times I didn’t show up,
how absence can be as bright as neon.
The shoreline draws a thin yellow promise and breaks it in the next breath.
Beauty stands here without a coat, shivering, stubborn.
It isn’t trying to save me. It doesn’t have to.
It just keeps shining, and I keep hurting in the most gentle way I know.
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