I trudge along the track, following a faint line through the wide silence of myself.

The world feels almost empty, dusting everything in pale powder, softening edges, blurring the eye of memory.

A strange trance settles in—not sleep, not waking.

Something begins to twist beneath the surface, a hollow ache, a rare truth I have avoided naming.

And there, in the quiet between footsteps, I meet the oldest self I know—still walking, still listening.

With love

— Maggie The Afterlove Voice 💫

If you want a reading, send me an email:

Afterlove-Voice@hotmail.com