When the Horizon Burns Away

The end is not a silence,

but a door half-open,

a wind that whispers of journeys

we are too afraid to take.

The streets grow quieter,

their neon veins dimming,

and the city exhales

like a giant forgetting its own name.

I walk where shadows dissolve,

where endings taste like ash and fire,

and I ask the night:

is this loss,

or is it the raw edge of freedom?

Every farewell holds a seed—

something waiting to be born

from the collapse of what we knew.

And in the hush,

where the old world falls apart,

a new horizon glows faintly,

like a candle trembling in the dark.

So let the end come,

not as terror,

but as a gateway—

a final turning of the key

to the wild mystery beyond.