26.04.2026
In response to: https://wp.me/p1CKcK-Z6
Words : limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit key
A thin curl of smoke
draws a ring in the air—soft, silky, almost still.
I trace the invisible limits,
the quiet list of things
I thought would fit me.
A bill of memory arrives—
unpaid moments,
a distant ache I tried to name as a wish.
But something shifts.
I let it spill,
all of it—
beyond measure, beyond reason.
And there,
in the clearing,
I find the key—
not to lock,
but to open.
— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫
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