Fading lines, a whispered plea,
Erasing myself, for all to see.
A gentle wash, a silent tear,
Dissolving slowly, year by year.

No angry shout, no sudden break,
Just fading colors, for goodness sake.
A muted echo, soft and low,
Where vibrant hues used to brightly glow.

The canvas blank, a pristine white,
Lost in shadows, out of sight.
A gradual leaving, soft and deep,
Secrets that I vow to keep.

No grand farewell, no final bow,
Just emptiness, and only now
I understand the silent art,
Of fading softly, setting apart.