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The Thread and the Flame
In the quiet, shadows stretch thin,
a thread unravels, slipping between fingertips.
Dreams trail behind it,
a mosaic of colors, blurred at the edges.
The flame flickers, unsteady—
not weak, but searching.
It moves as if knowing
its dance cannot last.
Ash settles like forgotten moments.
Smoke curls upward,
writing stories no one reads.
In the silence, something lingers:
not loss, but a beginning.
©️Kenanie 0 reply
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