In the attic,
where the air grows heavy
with forgotten things,
I found a prophecy
scrawled in the dust
of a broken mirror.
It whispered of love unreturned,
a thread spun thin
between two hearts,
one bound, the other free.
The light through
the cracked window
stretched long and aching
across the floor,
and I wondered if the shadows
felt my heartache.
My love, unseen,
a ghost in the corners of your gaze,
waits for recognition
it will never see.
Yet still, I stood beneath
the weight of the attic sky,
the prophecy a chorus in my mind,
and dreamed of the impossible…
your heart turning toward mine.
