She sits where sky and sorrow touch,
a quiet bruise against the wind,
wondering how a heart so small
can carry storms this heavy.
***
The world below is only noise,
a blur of lives that kept on moving
while her own breath stayed trapped
in the broken rib of a memory.
***
She is tired of being brave
in rooms that never softened,
tired of stitching herself together
with threads no one could see.
***
Up here, the air feels honest.
It does not ask her to smile.
It does not demand she pretend
the ache is anything but real.
***
A single thought trembles inside her:
if she vanished,
would the silence finally match
the way she feels within?
***
Yet something small,
something stubborn,
something shaped like a pulse,
refuses to let go.
***
Not hope.
Not light.
Just a fragile whisper:
***
Stay.
Stay until the world has one more chance
to be kinder than today.
******
About the Creator
Aarsh Malik
Poet and storyteller who believes in the quiet power of words.
My first book, QUIET FLAME
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