ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┃She sees what lies beneath the skin
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┃The fragile truths, the marks of sin
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┃In shattered ribs and fractured spines

( She finds the echoes of lost times. 👛 )

No scream disturbs her measured breath, she stands composed in the face of death. Her calm, a lantern in the dark, illuminating every mark.

ㅤㅤㅤ🖋️.. When the night feels
ㅤㅤㅤthick and vast, she knows
ㅤㅤㅤher place within its grasp

Not haunted, but quietly aware, that death and life are threads she bears. Behind her mask, no ego hides, just quiet thought and patient strides. She speaks when words are truly due, and when she does, they cut straight through.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTo many, she's a distant star
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Cold and silent from afar
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤBut step inside her quiet world
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ And find compassion, tightly furled

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
She walks alone by rivers opaque
The morning crowd will never know
The wars she fights in undertow
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

📖 \ .. In coffee shops and crowded trains, she fades, unnoticed, through the lanes. No medals pinned upon her chest, but countless souls she’s laid to rest. Not saints, nor sinners, make her pause, she sees beyond the mortal flaws. In every scar, in every bruise, she finds the truths that others lose.

Her journals thick with careful lines
A quiet shrine to humankind
Not for the living to applaud
But for the dead, her quiet God

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤShe lets the faces drift away
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ But keeps their voices day by day

For who will ( 'tell the broken tale ) : 🫆 Of silent hearts that beat and fail? She does with hands both strong and kind, she writes the peace they could not find.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
🕐So when the world forgets their names, she'll bear their sorrows just the same. A ghost in white, an unseen thread, between the grieving and the dead when at last her own heart tires.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤBreath dissolves in colder fires
ㅤㅤㅤMay someone find her careful scroll
ㅤㅤㅤㅤRead the tenderness of her soul

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

( THE WORLD OUTSIDE | may Rush & Spin )
UNKNOWING OF THE •• wars within
06/07 : But she remains, a steady line

When at last her story fades, like midnight mist or distant shades, perhaps a voice will softly tell of one who served the dead so well. No weeping crowds, no floral rain, just peace beneath her quiet name. A life of stillness, deep and wide, a guardian where the lost reside.

ㅤ────── XII \ .. 👠 Her rest beyond the door
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWhere echoes hum forevermore
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThe gentle ghost in sterile light
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤThe keeper of the endless night

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ