In the quiet dusk, beneath a gray-veiled sky,
A woman stood by the river's edge, alone.
Her name was Liliana, a flower in the wind,
Once vibrant, now wilting in the twilight of her years.
Her tears fell silently, mingling with the soft rain,
As she watched the petals she had plucked, one by one,
Drift down the river, a gentle procession of loss.
Each petal was a memory, a whisper of love,
Now carried away by the relentless current.
Liliana's hands, once tender and warm,
Were now cold, trembling like the autumn leaves.
She had loved once, with a heart as open as the sky,
But time had withered that love, like flowers left to fade.
She followed the petals with her gaze,
As they floated down the stream,
Disappearing into the distance,
Where the river met the horizon,
And the sky kissed the earth with a sorrowful sigh.
The rain washed over her, a cleansing balm,
But the pain remained, buried deep within,
A thorn that refused to be dislodged.
And as the last petal vanished from view,
Liliana whispered a name,
One that the wind carried away,
To mingle with the rain and tears,
Forever lost in the river of forgotten dreams.
