Even abandoned stars still burn,
their glow crossing years of darkness
to reach eyes that no longer look.
I am that star,
ghosted, refused, unread,
yet still alive,
still sending out a pulse
that silence cannot erase.
You may turn away,
close the inbox,
let the letters gather dust.
But my light travels on —
a quiet defiance,
a refusal to vanish.
Residual light is not hope.
It is endurance –
proof that even discarded voices
carry their own fire
and shine beyond the reach
of those who chose not to see.