Fear— blue, cold, tattered, dreaded, frost-bitten that ruptures the everyday; fractured blueprints of unstable equilibrium that coat my tongue with iron and anguish. Unassuming herald of endless torment, the relentless word that devours all vanity and floods my skull with forgotten songs. Faithful fear, eternal shadow of my abandoned dreams, ease your grip, recall those hours when we sealed our bargain before the dark gifts arrived, before loss was settled, and we wandered in dread, hunting for other laughter. Fear, abandon me here, submerged in my quietness, for there is not so much grief in this modest life.
# Return I do not know what wind brought me here, or which road leads back. The house stands as it always did— shutters half-closed, like tired eyes. No one has swept the threshold. I touch the doorframe. The wood remembers nothing. Inside, dust settles on the table where we ate. A cup still holds the ring of yesterday's tea. I call out. My voice returns to me, a stranger's voice, asking questions I cannot answer. The clock has stopped. Time, it seems, was waiting for my return and grew impatient. I sit in the dark. Outside, the world continues— carts pass, voices rise and fade, someone's child laughs. It is a sound I almost recognize. Tomorrow I will leave again. The house will close behind me like a book with all its pages blank. And still I will not know which wind carries me forward, or if there is, anywhere, a road called home that remembers my name.
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