𝑂𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔

there are still things in my life that seem to wait for someone who has long since become a distance rather than a presence. photographs i took because your words once taught me to look at myself through kinder eyes, moments i unconsciously preserved as though somewhere, someday, they might still find their way to you. It is strange how a person can leave behind more than memories—how they can alter the way you see yourself, until even your own reflection carries traces of the way they once looked at you. perhaps distance is not measured in miles, nor in the silence that grows between two people, but in all the small things that remain unsaid because there is no longer a familiar place to put them. i have become quieter in your absence, more accustomed to keeping things to myself, as though withdrawing into my own little world could somehow make the space between us feel smaller. and still, there are songs i want you to hear, photographs i wish you had seen, little discoveries that instinctively make me think of telling you. so much of me still reaches for a conversation that no longer happens. maybe that is what i have never quite learned to accept: that someone can become distant enough to disappear from your days, while remaining close enough to exist in almost everything you wish you could share.

ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛

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سه حلقه برای الف ها، زیر آسمان هفت حلقه برای اربابان دورف، در تالارهای سنگی‌شان نه حلقه برای انسان‌های فانی، محکوم به مرگ و یک حلقه برای فرمانروایی بر همه و در تاریکی به بند کشیدنشان، در سرزمین موردور، جایی که سایه‌ها آرمیده‌اند.