The Shape of Returning
The city remembers the weight of your absence, yet waits for the silence to fill its old contours once more.
Rain falls against a window that still holds the ghost of your touch, while letters from nowhere whisper of a home that refuses to change despite the years you spent away. As the moon rises over a skyline unchanged by time or travel, you stand at the threshold of a self that has been waiting in the quiet space between who you were and who you have become.
