The days gather quietly,
like leaves at the edge of a forgotten path.
Nothing announces their passing-
only the way your hands change,
the way silence deepens
between conversations.

Faces come and go.
Some stay in photographs,
some only in the shape of your memory.
Even your own reflection
starts to look like someone else
you once knew.

There is no rush,
only the steady movement forward,
unfolding without permission,
without pause.

You begin to treasure softness-
a glance that lingers,
a voice that remembers your name
without needing to.

And somewhere in all of it,
a quiet understanding grows:
this life was never meant
to be held still.
Only touched,
and loved
as it passes.

As the years roll by,
you learn
how much remains
in what you thought was gone.