n quiet rooms where light bends low,
A shadow lingers, soft and slow.
It weaves its threads through thought and bone,
A silent ache, a weight unknown.

The world moves on in hurried pace,
Yet here I stand, out of place—
A tethered heart, a restless mind,
In search of things it cannot find.

Days blur by in faded tones,
Bright voices dimmed to hollow drones.
The laughter rings, but doesn’t stay,
A fleeting sound that slips away.

I sit with feelings, dark and deep,
In borrowed hours I cannot keep,
And wonder when the tide will turn,
When hope returns from where it’s burned.

But in this dusk of quiet ache,
I find a truth I cannot shake:
Sometimes sorrow’s gentle sigh
Is the only way the heart can cry.

So here I sit, in shadows cast,
Knowing this, too, will not last.
For even in this muted gray,
A hint of dawn will find its way.