Your face is a hymn, caught in the cracks of winter’s breath,
Eyes like storm clouds breaking, where silence takes its rest.
The branch stretches, jagged and bare,
A line drawn between who we are and who we could have been.
I see the weight you carry in your quiet rebellion,
The fire in your hair, a defiance against frostbitten skies.
Each shadow on your skin tells stories,
Whispered through the marrow of the earth.
You stand still, but everything in you is moving,
A symphony of ache, of hope, of trembling resolve.
And I wonder if the cold has ever touched you,
Or if it’s the warmth inside that keeps it at bay.
We are wanderers, trapped in the gravity of moments like this,
Where nature meets the divine,
And all we can do is bear witness
To the beauty of being undone.
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