I walked through days I thought were mine, each step a shadow, soft, divine.
The mirror held a face I knew,
Yet something deeper stirred and grew. The seasons turned, the winds grew cold, and I became both young and old.
A quiet fire ignited there, transforming fear into a stare.
The world pressed close, the nights were long, its weight reshaping right and wrong.
I felt the tides within my chest, pulling old ghosts into their rest.
Yet in the shift, a subtle grace, a softer light in hidden space.
The change within, though strange, is true, a tender pulse that breaks into you.
And when I stand beneath the sky, I know that I have learned to fly. The self I was has met the new, and in its echo, I see through.
