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Post: Echoes in Autumn: A Ballad of Lost Embrace
Echoes in Autumn: A Ballad of Lost Embrace. As I gaze into the mirror of my own sorrow, the world around me fades into a canvas painted with the hues of my heartache. There I am, a young woman, my face a testament to the silent streams of grief that trace paths down my cheeks. Each tear is a word unspoken, a whisper of the love that once was, now lost to the relentless march of time.
The trees, bare and reaching, stand as sentinels to my pain, their branches weaving a tapestry of desolation against the twilight of my soul. The leaves, those harbingers of autumn’s touch, lie scattered like the remnants of my shattered dreams. Among them, two leaves catch my eye, their accidental placement a cruel mimicry of a heart, a symbol of a union that once beat with vibrant life in the chest of a love now departed.
Within that heart, a mirage forms—two heads, leaning, supporting each other in silent understanding, in an echo of past embraces. How can mere leaves evoke such a vivid recollection of the one whose presence was the very essence of my being? With every rustle of the wind, they seem to whisper his name, a name my lips dare not speak for fear of breaking the dam I’ve meticulously built to contain my longing.
Echoes in Autumn: A Ballad of Lost Embrace
The memory of him is a ghost, a specter that haunts the edges of my reality. Our laughter, once a symphony that filled the air with joy, now rings as a hollow echo in the chambers of my forsaken heart. His gaze, which could cut through the chaos of life to find me, is now just a shadow in my periphery, a trick of the light that leaves me turning to emptiness.
I remember the soft cadence of his voice, a melody that lulled my fears to sleep. I recall the fortress we built, not of stone and mortar, but of trust, of shared secrets whispered under the cloak of night. We were two souls tethered by an invisible thread, so finely spun, yet so strong. That thread has now unraveled, the connection severed by circumstances cruel and unyielding.
In this moment of reflection, the world is quiet, save for the symphony of my own heartbreak. The realization that the leaves will soon crumble, as all things do, brings a sharp pang to my chest. Yet, even as they wither, their message endures, a poignant reminder that what once was, will always remain a part of me.
The heart they form is not just a symbol of a love that’s died, but also of my capacity to love, to remember, and to carry on. For in the end, it is not the love that is lost that defines us, but the love that we gave, and the strength to love again. And so, with a heavy heart, I move forward, carrying the bittersweet legacy of a love that will forever echo in the autumn of my soul.
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About the Author: Bernard Aybout (Virii8)
