In the vast expanse of the universe,

possibly beyond it,

lies a beautiful person—

floating in infinite.

They’re, home,

there is no other way to put it,

I may be feeling melancholic,

but they’re home.

Are you doing okay?

Do you still play the piano?

Are you at peace?

I hope you are.

I know you’re out there.

Somewhere…

—————— ll ——————

I heard you.

It came soft,

like memories drifting between stars.

Yes,

I still play the piano.

The notes are different here—

but they still sound like home.

You ask if I’m at peace.

I think so.

The silence doesn’t resonate the way you’d expect—

it listens,

holds me.

You feel melancholic.

So did I, for a while.

But I’ve learned something,

missing and loving—

they can exist in the same breath.

You’re doing better than you think.

And I’m still with you.

Not always in the way you want—

but always in the way you need.

I know you’re out there too,

still writing,

still feeling,

still beautiful.

Somewhere…