Almost...
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Leave me longer—
in the gap where I haunt your fantasy,
a silent guess,
an afterglance.
Here, we are the best of ourselves,
or the trembling sprouts of not-yet-shadows,
their fragile shapes charged
with awe and hope,
lost among roads too strange to name.
They wander, carrying whispers
of what might have been,
threads of possibility unraveling
against the vast unknown.
Leave me longer—
in the silent haunt of almost,
where the world bends softly,
and we linger not as we are,
but as we dream to be.
Bu şiiri puanla
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