She walked where silence bloomed,

Beneath a sky that forgot it’s name.

The air was stitched with whispers,

Soft as breath on glass.

Red crowned the trees

Not with fruit,

But with memory.

Each blossom pulsed

Like a heart remembering pain.

She wore the same color,

Not as armor,

But as apology.

For what, she didn’t know

Only that forest did.

The path was not straight,

Nor kind,

But it welcomed her

Like it had been waiting

For someone to break.

She didn’t look back.

Not because she was brave

But because something behind her

Had finally let go.