we built something
in the clearing,
quiet, green,
half-shadow,
half-trust.

you wandered off
chasing light
through darker trees,
calling it
your path.

i waited,
moss growing over
the words
we never finished.

when the axe fell,
it was gentle.
silent.
already done.

now,
i walk alone
through what’s left
of us,
and still,
the forest grows.