⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I’ve walked many springs, but they still surprise me. The way the trees forget the cold. The way petals fall like they have done it a hundred lifetimes. The way I keep stopping to notice.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Ask not why she craves her freedom. She will simply say, ‘It is the only path to true living.’ Her soul cannot be confined, for in freedom, she finds her very essence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
There she stood. Her presence not worn, but composed; black and white like the page of a forgotten letter. One arm cloaked in dusk, the other bare as truth. Even the light seemed to linger, unwilling to let her go.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The colors are dull now, soft and worn, and somehow that’s where she feels most at ease. The world isn’t loud here. Leaves fall without needing to be noticed. And in that simple, quiet fading, she finally feels like herself.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I read about distant shores with bare legs and borrowed light. And for a moment, I belonged to none of it, and all of it at once.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Woke up with sunlight on my skin and old stories in the walls. It felt like I had time-traveled to a quieter version of life.