Regrets—
like halo nevi,
ghost-circles etched beneath the skin,
not quite wounds,
but not quite gone.

I carry silence like a sealed coffin,
heavy not with death,
but with all I never said.
Grief grows in the throat
where words once should have lived.

My past lingers—
not like a shadow,
but like a scent in a room no one enters anymore.
Rot clings softly,
sweet and unbearable.

There is a golden rose—
my mother.
Once blooming with fire,
now fading
petal by petal.
Each fall is a clock hand turning,
and I am forced to watch.

I want to hold her together
with magic,
with anything—
but my hands shake,
and time doesn’t wait
for trembling children.

I tried to build her peace—
a garden with soft walls,
sun-warmed laughter,
a space untouched by cruelty.
But I only built ruins,
a house with love in its bones
and grief in its windows.

She looks at me,
still bleeding
from wounds she took in my name.
Her strength was stitched into my survival.
I stand
because she broke.

And still—
she smiles.

We drift.
Two hearts once knotted tight
now pulled by slow, merciless winds.
I feel the thread thinning.
I know it will snap.
Everything beautiful eventually does.

I wish I could rewind
every unkind second,
every moment I was too late to love her right.
But time isn’t kind.
It only moves forward—
a thief that never apologizes.

My heart is a drum
pounding behind a cracked ribcage,
not with life—
but with fear.

I watch her—
fragile, fading,
each second more precious
because it cannot be kept.

And I know
regret is coming.
Like halo nevi—
soft, invisible, permanent.

She is everything.
And I—
I am only the witness
to her slow disappearance.