An Alley of Wounds and Flaws
When the light you were searching for turns out to be your own reflection
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedMay they not walk this thorned path,
for the promise of light at its end.
May they take joy even in the thorns —
an alley of wounds and flaws.
To be known by essence, not by name.
To be remembered by soul,
not by sight that dissolves.
One may spend a lifetime yearning —
moments hiding behind the veil,
colours so radiant,
yet shapeless in form.
To long for the doors leading
to the darkest corners of one’s soul to unfold,
trespassing on the edge of living,
destined to remain a passenger.
A glimpse of light appeared around the corner,
placing one’s trust in what cannot yet be seen.
Marking the death cries of old structures collapsing,
bursting bombs in one’s chest,
almost like thunder.
An essence asking for surrender.
One opened her eyes in silence,
and calmness shifted.
When no luminous light awaited at the end of the road,
silence itself became understanding.
To be touched by a gaze —
one’s own, unveiled.
Placing one’s trust in what cannot yet be seen,
but slowly shaping.
To be felt in one’s quiet truth —
not to be revealed,
but to be received.
The witness remained —
an antagonist reflected in the mirror.
May they not walk this thorned path,
for the promise of light at its end.
May they take joy even in the thorns —
spirit unbound, in its truest form.
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