It begins—
not with thunder, not with fire,
but with the slow unraveling
of something once tightly wound.
The veil, heavy as drowning light,
cascades over my skin,
settling in the marrow of my bones.
Rose-colored glass slips from my nose,
shattering midair—
a thousand fractured illusions,
glitter caught between seconds.
The fog retreats,
folding into the arms of the trees,
revealing the clearing I had always stood in.
The ground—littered, painted,
a mosaic of warnings I once mistook for love.
Scarlet bones,
whispers of every red ******* flag
I swore I didn’t see.