01.03.2026

I look for shelter
where the rocks break the wind,
where a wild rose still dares to bloom
at the edge of ruin.

I step carefully—
the ground is messy,
littered with scrap and memory.

Something in the flesh still trembles,
though I thought I had settled
all that was left unsaid.

A thin ghost of yesterday
brushes my shoulder,
then fades.

I do not run.

I gather what remains,
make a shelter of my own breath,
and stand—
not untouched,
but unbroken.

— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫