Originally written on April 2, 2025.

A mosaic of fractures, jagged and bare,  
No mortar to mend what the shadows have worn.  
The echoes of laughter dissolve into air—  
A symphony frayed, its last notes unborn.  

Autumn leaves whisper of transient friends,  
Each farewell a bruise, each absence a tear.  
The clockwork of endings never suspends—  
We orbit the void, drawing nearer, my dear.  

A vow carved in ash, a debt I incur,  
The tide of my flaws will drown your light.  
I am the ghost in the hallways of her,  
A shiver of “almost” that fades into night.  

And when the last chord of your patience has frayed,  
You’ll linger as frost on the glass of my shame.  
A relic of trust in the ruins we made,  
A name etched in dust, barely legible. Mine.  

So I etch this truth in the bones of the earth:  
To love me is grief in its rawest refrain.  
For storms brewed within me will choke every hearth,  
And all who dare linger… are salt in the rain.

—T.A.