TEN THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED NINETY-TWO
Ten thousand five-nine-two days passed,
Since you let go—thought not the last.
Time moved in quiet, steady thread
While words we never spoke were said.
She held new life and bore her name,
Yet one was born when my day came.
I chased warm hands through borrowed light,
Too loud, too soft—none held me right.
The seasons turned with practiced grace,
As if to sweep away your face.
Yet on the day the leaves first fell,
You came again, and time stood still:
"Hello."
* * *
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