She went where echoes meet the rain,
Beyond the door, beyond the pain.
She asked again, “Where’s my purse?”
Time loops back—each moment a verse.
The noon was bright, but not for her.
She moved like mist—unsure, unsure.
I wrap her in that mustard thread,
Love worn thin, yet never dead.
......
She went where echoes meet the rain,
Beyond the door, beyond the pain.
She asked again, “Where’s my purse?”
Time loops back—each moment a verse.
The noon was bright, but not for her.
She moved like mist—unsure, unsure.
I wrap her in that mustard thread,
Love worn thin, yet never dead.
......