When you are old
and the years have gathered quietly in your hands,
you will sit in the hush of early evening
and listen to time breathing through the curtains.

You will remember the laughter
that once danced in crowded rooms,
and the silence that followed
when the door finally closed.

There will be faces you cannot name,
and names you still whisper
as though they might answer
from the next room.

The mirror will not lie to you-
but it will not tell the whole story either.

And in that stillness,
you may find
that the softest parts of love
have never left.