THE WEIGHT OF AIR

She drifted from one shore to another,

leaving footprints where none would last.

The wind whispered promises soft as silk,

but the tide pulled hard, unseen, unfelt.

A house of walls, yet none her own,

a bed of stone, a sky too low.

The air was thick with foreign songs,

the stars above no longer spoke.

Once a pillar, firm and known,

now a whisper lost in halls.

Hands once needed, now untouched,

a name uncalled, a voice too small.

The river runs, but not for her,

the fire burns, yet gives no heat.

The days collapse, the nights stretch thin,

and echoes answer when she weeps.

But fate is patient, quiet, still,

a tide that shifts beyond the eye.

One breath, one step, a shifting sea,

time will reveal what it means.