Maybe my mind needs a pause
not rest, but retreat,
a quiet unraveling beneath
the noise I no longer greet.
These thoughts, once sharp, now blur and fade,
like ink in rain-soaked leaves;
I chase them through the dusk alone,
with nothing left to grieve.
The world keeps speaking in full light,
but I am dusk and dim
a shadow slipping through the hours,
a hymn without a hymn.
Perhaps the ache is not for peace,
but simply to be still
to sit beside the weary self
and feel the aching spill.
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