She kneels before time,
a hooded figure draped in silence,
watching the sands fall,
each grain a name, a story, a breath
that once burned bright, now dust.
She knows—
the sobs that shake the living,
the hands that clutch at nothing,
the weight of meaning unraveling
with every step she takes.
She is not cruel,
but neither is she kind.
She simply is—
the turning of a page,
the final note in a song
that was always meant to end.
And yet, beneath the quiet,
beneath the slow erosion of time,
a whisper hums in the space between—
Not today.
A heartbeat lingers.
A hand reaches for the light.
The clock ticks, but not yet.
Not yet.
She bows her head,
waits for the weight to shift.
Knows it always will.