Soon, Love.

I walk the cold world alone, Buildings whisper your name in the streets. Every step, the earth reminds me: the distance is a wound, not an end.

They call me cursed, they call me lost, My heart is a compass; it points only to you. Even death cannot disrupt that pull.

The miles are dust. The hours, ash. They fall away when I remember your breath, your warmth waiting at the end of the road.

Do not mistake my mask for distance. Behind it, I burn for you. And though the world mocks my walk through hell, my path bends always back to your side.

Soon, love. Soon the soil will give way, the shadows will quiet, and my hands. Scarred, eager, true. Will find yours.

[Carved in stone]

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