The sky cracked open
not in rage,
but with a silence
too loud to bear.
A ribbon of fire
stitched itself through her,
a whispered scream
from the heavens to the bones.
She was glass for a moment
shattered,
radiant,
spilled across the earth’s breath.
Time unraveled in the static hush.
Not death
but something close,
something wiser.
Now, healing comes
not as a flood,
but as a drop
each morning.
Nerves remember
what light forgot.
Tremors echo
like prayers still waiting for answers.
But she rose
ash scented,
storm marked,
part flame, part forgiveness.
The scar is not a wound.
It’s a map.
A truth seared in flesh:
She is still here.
Sending Love💚.
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