“Sunlit Things”

by Aria Virelion

I love the way the morning breaks—

in golden spills across the floor,

as if the sun itself awakes

to press a kiss against the door.

The wind hums low—a lullaby,

the flowers lift their painted heads.

The world feels light. The sky feels high.

And even silence softly treads.

Today, I braid the morning in,

thread light through loops of memory.

I almost taste what could have been—

a life untouched by prophecy.

A name not whispered like a curse.

A crown not forged in ash and lies.

A fate not carved into a verse

by hands that never heard my cries.

So yes, I smile. I smile wide.

I laugh beneath the willow tree.

But bitterness burns just inside—

a blade too long concealed in me.

Let them say I shine with grace,

let them love my borrowed name.

But I remember every face

that watched my world go up in flame.