Moments fade, then stay, caught in lines where memories play
Moments fade, then stay, caught in lines where memories play
Moments fade, then stay, caught in lines where memories play
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WINTER'S SORROW.
A Poem.
There are evenings
that don’t ask to be remembered—
they just stay.
In the quiet hum of ordinary things,
a glass left half-full,
the slow drift of curtains in a tired room,
you exist without noticing
how complete it feels.
Nothing remarkable happens—
and yet, everythi
WINTER'S SORROW.
A Poem.
There are evenings
that don’t ask to be remembered—
they just stay.
In the quiet hum of ordinary things,
a glass left half-full,
the slow drift of curtains in a tired room,
you exist without noticing
how complete it feels.
Nothing remarkable happens—
and yet, everythi
WINTER'S SORROW.
A Poem.
There are evenings
that don’t ask to be remembered—
they just stay.
In the quiet hum of ordinary things,
a glass left half-full,
the slow drift of curtains in a tired room,
you exist without noticing
how complete it feels.
Nothing remarkable happens—
and yet, everythi